


Conductor

by MystyVander



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drarry, Fluff, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Smut, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-04 18:52:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 44,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4149024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MystyVander/pseuds/MystyVander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harry Potter needs to escape his life, he uses polyjuice. It always worked for him…until while he was transformed he met and fell in love with Draco Malfoy. Then his whole world got turned upside down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or anything else you may recognize. The characters and the world belong to Miss J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. As well, any song lyrics (and NO this is NOT a song fic) are from 'Conductor' by 'We Were Promised Jetpacks'. There will be a single line of lyric at the beginning of each chapter. 
> 
> Warning: Mature/Explicit
> 
> A/N: Hello! Here I am to start another fic, and I do hope you all enjoy it! Reviews are always greatly appreciated! This is an AU, Post-Hogwarts/Post-War fiction, and yes, it is explicitly Drarry. A million thanks and praises to my amazing beta, Arithmancy Master, thank you once again for embarking on another fic with me and our readers! Lastly, I hope you all enjoy!

_Just a comeback, another comeback._

London was thriving on New Year’s Eve 2008. It was warm enough for the girls to comfortably wear their short, flashy dresses and tall boots but cold enough to warrant a thick jacket over the top. The streets had a fine layer of slush from the melting snow which never seemed to stay for too long. At the moment, the world appeared like a good place to be a part of. However, one Harry James Potter couldn’t find it within himself to be happy.

In a busy part of muggle London, Harry found himself a bar that was perfect to his liking and lifestyle. Men would come and meet other men, dance without worry of judgement or harassment. It was at this club, _G-A-Y (at Heaven)_ , that he had met his former lover Maliki. It was back in 2004 and Harry had just turned twenty-four. He had stumbled upon the bar and began to frequent it by himself after his long hours working at the Ministry as one of the head Aurors. Maliki, a couple of years older than Harry, had noticed him sitting quietly at the bar by himself night after night. It took him only a few times of seeing him before he approached him.

Maliki was the first man Harry had ever let himself be known to. And when he did he ended up falling for him – hard. His relationship with Maliki was nothing like his with Ginny had been. Everything the two of them did together was fun or filled with passion. It had been difficult to keep his true identity from Maliki but in the end it worked out for the better. With Maliki, Harry never had to worry about his opinion on what they wrote about him in the Prophet or what he had done with the last twenty-four years in his life. Everything with Maliki was easy and electric.

Harry had come out to his close friends after Ginny broke off their sour engagement. He never identified himself as homosexual, just as simply curious. Maliki helped to propel his doubts of his sexuality and confirmed that he was indeed interested in both sexes. Once Ginny had heard talk of it from Ron she refused to speak to Harry for over a year until she finally was able to face him…with another man around her own arm. Since their engagement broke in 2003 she had married Dean Thomas and they had one baby girl with a boy on his way. Harry couldn’t be happier for her; she deserved everything she wanted in her life that he couldn’t possibly give her.  

Ron and Hermione were particularly supportive of his orientation and helped keep his secret, especially when he began to date Maliki. After a year of seeing one another, Maliki invited Harry to live with him in his flat on the outskirts of London. Harry couldn’t be happier.

Until the day of the incident.

There had been a break in at Gringotts which was simply unheard of. Harry was one of the first Aurors on the scene. It wasn’t a particularly clever break in but the goblins couldn’t be bothered with defending the bank or the citizens that were being harmed and held hostage in the process of the robbery. Through negotiations Harry and his team were able to talk down six of the robbers out of a team of nine. The last three, however, had different things in mind. A duel began between the team of Aurors and the men and Harry had become caught in the crossfire. A particularly nasty laceration hex hit him in the neck.

Once the robbers were apprehended Harry was brought to St. Mungo’s for immediate care. The laceration was sealed but like all curse marks it would be just another scar he would have to bear. When he returned home to his boyfriend, Maliki was quick to notice the new scar that ran from his left jawline nearly all the way down to his collarbone. When he questioned Harry about it and Harry continuously told him it had always been there and lied profusely of how he received the laceration, Maliki eventually became fed up and left.

Harry followed him not long after to Heaven, where he knew he would be, but what he saw when he got there wasn’t what he expected. Harry could never forget the look of Maliki wrapped so tightly around another man, his mouth devouring the other like Harry had never seen a man be kissed before.

Needless to say the incident was the reason why Harry only went to Heaven under a polyjuice and was alone on New Year’s Eve 2008 looking like anyone other than Harry Potter. Instead, he was a handsome Muggle from the coffee shop around the corner from Harry’s flat. His hair was short, light brown and his eyes were a dull blue. He had a particularly fantastic, lean physique which Harry couldn’t help but admire. Though he wasn’t always this particular man, sometimes he would snag hairs from people at work and a couple of times he even took one from Ron or Bill.

For the first few months Harry went to see Maliki though he never approached him. He only watched as he danced amongst his friends and lovers which seemed to change rather frequently much to Harry’s chagrin. After he had finally begun to deal with their separation, Harry visited the club less often but still did on some weekends.

This particular New Year was the first he was ever due to be spending alone. Hermione and Ron were stuck at home with the kneazle pox and poor Hugo had it, too. Rose was currently staying with her grandparents at the Burrow until the rest of her family was free of the infection. Ginny and Dean had invited Harry to their New Year’s Eve party and although he was grateful for the sentiment he always avoided going over to their house if possible. Neville and Hannah were currently in Asia with their kids as Neville was studying a rare form of dittany that had surfaced there. A few of the men from work invited Harry out to the Three Broomsticks but he simply didn’t feel up to it.

Instead, Harry found himself at the bar at Heaven, alone. He was leaning forward on his elbow, drowning out the incessant noise from the crowd. New Year was the busiest evening of the year and Harry was beginning to wonder why he had even bothered coming out at all.

‘For the drinks,’ he reminded himself as he looked down at his nearly empty glass of scotch. Harry threw the rest of it back in his head and waited for the bartender to come around again.

As he stood from his stool to get the bartender’s attention he felt a deliberate hand on his shoulder. Harry nearly jumped out of his skin, his Auror reflexes itching to grab at his wand in his pocket in defense. When he turned to see whose hand was gripping his shoulder lightly from behind, his heart stopped in his throat.

Draco Malfoy stood behind him, his narrow lips curled up into a breath-taking, playful smirk. His hair was as perfect as it had always been, neatly parted and almost as light as snow. His skin looked flawless, unscathed, and in Harry’s opinion completely unreal. Nobody could be so void of blemishes. And although he was taller, more filled out and much more handsome than before, Harry was absolutely certain it was none other than Draco Malfoy standing before him, his hand still on his shoulder. That face was unmistakeable.

“Sorry to have startled you, I was trying to get your attention but I think the music is a little loud in here tonight!” Draco yelled over the sheer volume of the club.

Harry sat still, staring wide eyed at him. ‘Draco Malfoy. Here. In a _gay_ muggle club. I must be drunker than I thought I was.’

Draco removed his hand from Harry’s shoulder and held it out to him, his smirk turning into a small, soft smile. Harry didn’t know if it was the way the club lighting shone on his pale skin or the absurd fact he was pretty certain Draco Malfoy was here to hit on him and had no idea who he was but Harry had a sudden urge to kiss those lips. ‘How have I never noticed how bloody fantastic he looks?!’ he screamed inwardly at himself as he still couldn’t formulate words out loud as Draco extended his hand which Harry awkwardly shook.

“The name is Draco. Come and dance with me,” he said with his hand still extended.

Harry swallowed his heart and the heavy lump both stuck in his throat. He wasn’t sure what possessed him to take the offer; perhaps it was the fact Draco kindly demanded his dance instead of asking for it, or the sheer confidence he exuded or even just his budding curiosity.

“What’s your name?” Draco nearly had to scream over the thumping house music as he led their way onto the sweaty, crowded dance floor.

“James,” Harry yelled back.

Draco peered over his shoulder at Harry and smirked again. “So, the cute man does speak.”

Harry felt his knees go weak. Draco Malfoy was flirting with him. Harry knew Draco had no idea it was really him but still he couldn’t wrap his head around what was happening and how he had come to be standing before him on a dance floor. Harry was wearing his typical blue jeans that were a little too tight and a black polo shirt. Draco, however, looked like a primed muggle. His slacks were perfectly straight, his tight button up shirt revealed far too much of his flawless skin. He looked as if he had spent hours in preparation but Harry figured it probably only took the man minutes to look so good. It had always been natural for him to appear that way.  

“You see, _James_ ,” Draco breathed as he leaned in towards Harry, his arms snaking around his waist and his mouth settling beside his ear. Harry shivered into him but remained unmoved as Draco pressed their bodies up together. “I do believe you need to move in order to dance.”

And that’s when all hope was lost for Harry. The distant memories of the war and the prat Draco Malfoy used to be automatically slipped out of his head as his body began to move against Harry’s. His pointed hips dug slightly into Harry’s own but rolled in a way Harry had never felt somebody move before. He had seen the dancers at the club dance the way Draco was but he had never _felt_ it. Draco’s hands roamed on Harry’s back, slipping under his shirt and onto his skin. Harry jumped at the touch but didn’t protest.

Eventually, gathering up what was left of his Gryffindor pride, Harry began to mirror Draco’s movements. His own arms tentatively slinked up around the slightly taller boy and began to explore the foreign territory. Harry’s hips swayed into Draco’s as Draco pressed them together even further. Harry was certain if they got any closer osmosis would begin to occur.

“James, what brings you to Heaven alone on a night like tonight?” Draco asked conversationally, thankfully the yelling was no longer necessary as his lips still were ghosting across his ear.

“Er, I always come here alone. Guess tonight’s no different from any other night,” Harry said lamely. “What about you-ahhhh,” Harry cut himself off as Draco suddenly ground into him a little harder and his semi-aroused member pressed up against Harry’s fully aroused one. ‘When did _that_ happen?!’ Harry internally screamed, scolding himself.

Even though he couldn’t see it, he could feel Draco smirk against his ear and could swear he felt his lips press to his skin. “First time here. My friends had other, more boring plans for this evening that I simply could not bear to be a part of.”

“And, uh, what do you think of Heaven?”

In a sudden movement too quick for Harry to follow, Draco turned around in Harry’s arms and now had his back pressed up against Harry’s front. He continued to move his hips in a way Harry was now sure was impossible for a man to do, his buttocks rubbing on Harry’s pelvis as his one hand rested on his thigh and his other reached behind him and wound its way into Harry’s hair. “I love it,” Draco grinned.

At that point Harry was so riddled with shock and arousal he wasn’t entirely sure how he was still standing and moving with Draco. They danced in silence for a few minutes, Harry trying desperately to grasp at any coherent thought in his head as Draco seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself. Harry was so wrapped up that he hadn’t even noticed the time or the people counting down in unison around him or even the fact the music had levelled out for a moment to allow the crowd to count together. Draco was still grinding back into him and then suddenly yanked Harry by the back of the neck forward enough that their lips could crash together.

Draco kissed Harry feverishly and deeply for a moment as the club erupted into screams and shouts of “Happy New Year!” around them. By the time Harry caught his breath Draco was facing him again, smiling broadly.

“Happy New Year, James, and thanks for the dance,” he said and began to take his leave.

Harry blinked a few times out of astonishment before lunging forward. He had no idea what he was doing but all he did know was that he couldn’t let Draco slip away from him now. He needed to know why he was there. Why was he dancing with strangers in muggle clubs and kissing them? And more specifically kissing men? Since when was Draco Malfoy gay?

Draco raised his eyebrow at Harry in a way that reminded him of the Slytherin he knew at Hogwarts. “In exchange for the dance, I want a date.” Harry was never a forward person but he needed to do something, he needed to answer all these new burning questions in his head.

Draco looked thoughtful for a moment before his sly grin returned. “A date? If you so insist.”

The two went off to the bar together as they exchanged addresses. Harry was certain the one Draco gave him couldn’t be real. It was an address of a house in the small, nice residential village not far from his own flat but quite far from any wizarding parts of London. Still, he took it and Draco’s apparent phone number.

“It was a pleasure, James.” Draco smirked as he leaned forward and kissed Harry again but this time softly and on the cheek. Before Harry could say anything in return Draco was gone amidst the crowd of Heaven, leaving him dazed and in desperate need of another drink.

* * *

Saturday morning saw Harry having a debate with himself. He walked passed the number stuck to his fridge multiple times; in each instance he paused for a moment, decided against it and shook his head.

It was by noon, after his third cup of coffee and finally giving into a hangover concoction he kept stocked from the apothecary, when he finally picked up the slip of paper. He could always just show up at his address. Harry was surprised Draco had been so trusting and gave it to him, then again, he thought he was an ordinary muggle and what harm could a muggle do to a wizard?

Nervous but suddenly overcome with determination – or perhaps it was just the caffeine jitters – Harry dialed the number. By the third ring he was certain Draco was ignoring his call; by the fifth he questioned why he still hadn’t hung up. Then came the automated answering machine. Harry hadn’t been expecting it and found himself struggling for words.

Clearing his throat, disguising his voice to the one he used as James, he spoke, unsure of himself once again. “Er, hello. This is James, from last night. I don’t know if you remember but, well, I was hoping that maybe…could you just call me back? I’d like to see you again. Uhm…okay, I guess I’ll hear from you later. Maybe. Bye.” Harry hung up quickly, his breathing laboured. “That’s got to be the most awful message I’ve ever left,” he chastised himself.

‘Why do I even care so much? Draco Malfoy is gay. Big whoop. It’s certainly not the news of the century; he always had an obsession with dressing to perfection, not to perpetuate a stereotype and all but…is it even the Malfoy being gay part that’s bothering me…’ Harry shook his head. He poured another cup of coffee and went to his seldom seen study.

Along his shelves of books, most of them old texts from his days at Hogwarts, and others scrapbooks compiled mostly by Hermione and duplicated. One, however, was made by his own hand. He found it, fingered its leather spine, before pulling it from the shelf and frowning at it. He had spellotaped a note to it that read, in his messy scrawl, ‘Malfoy’. Hermione had saved nearly all important Daily Prophet, Quibbler, and even Witch Weekly articles over the years – especially during their last few years at Hogwarts despite her dislike of the Prophet. She had clipped and pasted within parchment books all clippings related to the three of them, their families, their friends, Hogwarts, and the larger political news that had occurred. She was never inclined to keep the articles surrounding the Malfoy family, Harry, however, was. He had kept them stowed away for years before finally plastering them in a book of their own. He rarely opened this book, not as much as he did the others, and usually only when there was a new article to add – which was rare these days.

Opening it now, he flipped through the fraying articles. He quickly, and guiltily, passed by the picture of Lucius’ imprisonment, and came at last to one of the later articles. There Draco was, his parents in tow behind him, a scowl on his face looking clearly unhappy with the photographer. Beneath his picture, his perfectly tailored robes, his glaring grey eyes, was the header reading ‘Malfoys – Acquitted of All Charges!’ Harry didn’t need to read the article itself; he had been there, he had witnessed it, and he had even spoken at all three of their separate trials. Perhaps he even contributed to the positive ruling in their favour.

The article following had a picture of only Draco and Narcissa Malfoy, reporting the news of Lucius Malfoy’s mysterious murder. The Department for Magical Law Enforcement never investigated it – Harry assumed it was because they never cared for the death of an acquitted Death Eater.

A knock at the study door startled him and Harry slammed the book shut, shoving it back in its place on the shelf. “Sorry, mate, you weren’t answering your Floo,” Ron explained as he leaned against the doorway of the study. “What are you in here, for?”

Harry shrugged before turning to his best friend. “Bored, really. Telly is too loud,” he gestured at his head.

Ron sniggered. “Rough night?”

“Something like that,” Harry mumbled. “Happy New Year, then. You’re not looking so horrible today,” he commented.

The kneazle pox seemed to have calmed down, though it was still visible in the blemishes on his cheeks and about his ears, barely covered by his fading red hair. Ron shrugged. “Not contagious anymore, but Rose still can’t come home till we’re completely free of it. If you’ve taken your potion, Hermione wanted you to stop by for dinner tonight.”

“Are you sure you’re all well enough for that?” Harry returned, stepping past Ron (and careful not to touch him, contagious or not), leading the way to the kitchen. “Cuppa?”

“Ta, mate, I’m fine. She wants me to help around the house, looks a disaster after the past couple of days. So, will you be there? I reckon she’s going stir crazy and just wants some company,” he confessed.

“Alright then, so long as you’re not contagious anymore…and you’re lucky I’ve got two more doses of that potion,” he said, busying himself with making his fourth cuppa.

Ron was standing by the table, his eyes fixated on a scrap of paper beside his mobile on top of it. “Looks like you had a good night to me, mate, got a phone number, then? Who’s the lucky man? Or woman,” Ron added, furrowing his brows for a moment. He, like Harry, was never quite sure if he was homosexual or just bisexual with a tendency to lean more towards men. Harry tried not to question it too often, he was merely thankful his friends had come to accept it over time.

“Er, just a guy I met. Not important, really. I think he, uh, screened my call and didn’t answer. Made a fool of myself on his machine,” Harry admitted.

Coming up behind his friend, Ron clapped him on the shoulder gently and reassuringly. “There’ll be more, there always are. Not for me, though, which is why I’ve got to keep what’s mine happy. We’ll see you tonight, then,” he excused himself.

“Round seven,” Harry called after him, not bothering to walk him to the Floo – his flat was as good as Ron’s, giving how often he was over there.

“Seven,” Ron confirmed from down the hall before Harry heard him disappeared into the Floo.

Later that evening, as Hermione disappeared upstairs to put Hugo into bed well after dinner, Harry relaxed into one of the armchairs in their crowded living room. He and Ron were going over one of the latest, stranger, cases that had come across their desks at the Ministry when it happened. His phone vibrated in his pocket.

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin as he reached to answer it. Everybody that would call him was present. Knowing this well enough told him it was one of two people who would be calling his mobile – and one hadn’t rung in a very long time. Without even having to look at the name across his screen, Harry answered it, willing his heart to stop thudding so loudly in his chest.

“Er, hullo,” he said at last, his voice unsure and uneven. Ron was sitting across, watching him oddly. He was speaking in the same voice he tried to use when he was polyjuiced.

“Are you always that uncertain when you answer your own telephone?” came the smooth drawl from the other hand.

Harry nearly shivered at the sound of his voice. Did he always sound this confident? This sure of himself? “Sorry, just surprised,” he said earnestly.

“Though I’m not fond of these telephones,” ‘I’m certain you’re not,’ Harry thought to himself, “I do believe it is proper etiquette to return when somebody rings you?”

“Yeah, it is…I just thought you had given me a number to get rid of me last night,” Harry elaborated.

Draco’s laughter was soft on the other end. Harry could almost _hear_ his smirk in his voice. “You’re a good dancer, and a good kisser,” Draco admitted, “If I go on this date you so wish to have then perhaps I can see just what else you’re good at.”

Hearing the heavy insinuation in Draco’s voice nearly had Harry choking on his own tongue. He spluttered into the phone, only causing Draco to chuckle bemusedly once again. “How about on Anderson and Fifth, there’s a lovely shop called The Well, we could meet there tomorrow evening.”

‘Anderson and Fifth? That’s close to where Malfoy said he lived…’ Harry thought absently, still unable to bring himself to words.

“Around five?” Draco added, gently urging a response.

“S-sure, five, Anderson and Fifth, The Well,” Harry repeated nervously, only causing the blond more amusement.

“Good. I look forward to it, James.”

Before Harry could respond, the line went dead in his ear. He let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding and turned ashen faced as he saw Hermione had returned and both her and her husband were looking at him with expectant smiles. “That the bloke you left that awful message for this morning?” Ron asked.

Harry nodded bleakly. “Seeing him tomorrow night,” he said shortly. He felt in a state of permanent astonishment. Surely he wasn’t going on a date with _Malfoy_. Was he dreaming? Had he been slipped something last night and all of a sudden lost all his logic and reasoning?

“You met somebody last night?” Hermione inquiring, sitting with Ron across from him now.

“Er…” Harry paused. He certainly didn’t want to lie to his friends about who he was seeing but could he tell them otherwise.

“Wait, don’t you go polyjuiced to that place?” Ron questioned, slightly confused.

Hermione frowned disapprovingly. Ever since the end of the war, she was never a supporter of polyjuicing, especially knowing how often Harry utilized it. “Honestly, Harry, can’t you find a different place to go?”

“Heaven is perfect. It was mine before I met him,” Harry snapped back quickly before smiling apologetically at her. He was always defensive when it came to anything that could be related to Maliki. “I have enough hairs from the fellow I was polyjuiced as to do it quite a few more times,” he explained.

“Then what?” Hermione countered.

“Then what? Then, if all things are going well, I can always take more hairs and if it’s serious enough-“

“Harry!” Hermione immediately chastised, knowing exactly where his thoughts were leading. “That is _illegal_. And you are the Head Auror!”

Ron looked between his wife and friend. “What’s illegal?”

Hermione crossed her arms and stared at Harry with pursed lips. “Breaking the Statue of Secrecy to Muggles.”

Ron turned to look wildly at Harry. “They can sentence you for that!”

Harry groaned. He had to tell them. They certainly wouldn’t let him hear the end of it otherwise. “I won’t have to break any statue or any law,” he muttered and looked down at his hands, wringing themselves together in his lap. “The bloke I met was a wizard.”

Considering that piece of news shocked them, Harry was certain anymore would permanently stun them. “Do you know him?”

“Did he go to Hogwarts?”

“Did you tell him who you were?”

Harry quickly put his hands up to stop their alternating questions and sighed as they silenced themselves. “Yeah, he went to Hogwarts, yes I know him, and no of course I didn’t bloody well tell him. He would have run if I had told him. I don’t even _like_ the guy,” Harry half-lied. That wasn’t true. Before last night, he had been indifferent to Malfoy over the past few years. After last night, despite the obvious physical attraction, Harry had no idea what to make of him.

“Don’t like him…why bother going out with him then?” Ron quipped.

Resting his head in his hands, Harry ran his fingers through his unruly hair, his glasses sliding down his nose. “Because I need to know why he was there,” he said honestly.

Hermione and Ron exchanged worried glances. “Who is he, Harry?” Hermione asked softly.

After what felt like eons, Harry finally whispered his name, as if it were a swear, as if it were a forbidden word. “Malfoy.”

The silence and slack-jawed faces that met him rattled him. Thankfully, after a long moment, Hermione stood up from the Chesterfield. “I’m going to go make us some cuppas,” she informed them.

Harry looked up at Ron who was staring back at him, still clearly surprised, but he wasn’t angry. He held no contempt in his face, just confusion. This comforted Harry to some extent. Once Hermione returned, placing warm cuppas in both of their hands and reseating herself, she inclined Harry to explain on his own time. With as little detail as possible he explained how Malfoy approached him and what had happened since then.

“Why even bother dancing with him? You should have told him to bugger off, mate,” Ron commented dryly.

Harry flushed and looked down at the cup in his hand. “I was a little shocked at the moment, and curious,” he admitted.

“And you’re planning on meeting him again tomorrow night…because you’re curious?” Hermione asked slowly as her and her husband attempted to wrap their heads around the odd situation.

Biting his lip, Harry nodded. “What’s so curious about it?” Ron scowled, “We haven’t seen Malfoy in years, good riddance, why care about what the bugger’s up to?”

“I don’t care,” Harry said quickly, “I’m just curious,” he added a little more softly.

Silence hung around them for a few moments once again before Harry broke it, he desperately wanted to explain himself to his friends. “Try to understand…last time I saw Malfoy was on the street in Diagon Alley three years ago. Before then, it was at his own trial after the war. Then all of a sudden he’s showing up in Muggle London at Heaven? I mean, Malfoy is _gay_? And since when is he okay with consorting with Muggles?”

“It is a little odd that he’s hanging around Muggle London, but…I never did see him with many skirts at school,” Ron considered, receiving a glaring look from Hermione for his comment. “Besides, isn’t it a little bit of the pot calling the cauldron black, you talking about Malfoy being gay?”

Harry frowned. “Not that there’s anything wrong with it, obviously, it’s just surprising,” at Hermione and Ron’s shrugs he grumbled, “Surprising to me, at least.”

“I reckon over the years, especially with the new integration program for Muggleborns and Squibs at Hogwarts, Malfoy could have become more enlightened and tolerant towards Muggles. What is it he does, anyway? His family is no longer affiliated with the Ministry, are they?” Hermione questioned Harry and Ron who both quickly shook their heads.

“Once Lucius passed they sort of disappeared,” said Ron.

“Malfoy runs that apothecary in Louth, or at least last I heard,” Harry tried to recall – he wasn’t sure where he had remembered hearing that but he was certain that’s what their old friend, Luna, had told him last he saw of her.

“Louth? In Lincolnshire?” Hermione appeared surprised.

Harry nodded into his cuppa. “That’s what Luna told me a few years back. I didn’t know there were many wizards that far east .”

“There aren’t, that’s why it’s surprising. I do know there are a few families, very old ones that are settled in Kesteven and Lincoln. Not that it matters, one can Floo where they need to nowadays,” Hermione added as an afterthought.

“True, still an odd place for the bloke to settle down.”

“He hasn’t settled there,” Harry quickly corrected. “He gave me his address last night, it’s not far from St. Mungo’s, actually.”

Ron leaned back in his seat, furrowing his brow. “Must be a bit of a hassle to have a shop set up in Louth and live in London. Most business owners like to stay close to their shops,” he commented. “Still doesn’t explain your going along with all of this, Harry. Is it really worth having to polyjuice yourself as another guy just to…well, what is it you’re hoping to accomplish anyway?”

Harry opened and closed his mouth a few times. He took a long sip from the cup in his hands before placing it gently down on the table. “I just want to know what Malfoy’s up to in a Muggle club, s’all. It’s not normal.”

“Sure it’s not. You going on a bloody _date_ with Malfoy isn’t normal, either,” Ron said pointedly.

Harry grimaced. That much was true, however, the thought of it didn’t perturb him as much as it should. His curiosity was overcoming the oddity of the whole affair and he wanted to know, for whatever reason, what is was Draco Malfoy was up to and why he was spending New Year’s Eve alone, dancing with strangers. Not to mention, the kissing and dancing had been spectacular and Malfoy looked a right sight for sore eyes.

Hermione must have been watching Harry closely as she was now looking at him with thorough concern. “Harry,” she began gently, “Is it _just_ curiosity?”

“Of course it is!” Ron defended him but then turned to Harry’s ashen face and frowned. “Mate, you don’t actually like Malfoy, do you?”

“Merlin, no! He was a decent kisser…and a fantastic dancer,” he mumbled the last part underneath his breath.

Ron turned white at his words as Hermione’s frowned merely deepened. “That, I didn’t need to know, mate. What you do on your free time is fine by me, so long as it doesn’t involve that bastard Maliki and so long as I don’t have to hear about you kissing Malfoy,” he muttered, disgruntled.

Harry smiled at him apologetically and turned on Hermione’s worried face, automatically understanding what concerns she was going to raise. “I just want to know what he was doing there, Hermione. Nothing else. It’s just a harmless date, I won’t get myself hurt and I won’t hurt Malfoy,” he promised.

Hermione looked unsure. “You’re a grown man, Harry, I trust you to make your own decisions. It’s just…going around as a different person seeing Malfoy on a date? I just don’t want you to get hurt. Be careful, Harry.”

“I will, Hermione, I promise.”

* * *

Before his date had even begun, Harry was finding it difficult to keep his promise to Hermione. Perhaps this was not one of his brightest ideas.

Harry was sitting nervously in the coffee shop Draco had instructed him to be at. The shop itself was nice; it had a strong smell of dark coffee and chocolate in the air, soft music playing in the background, and the meaningless chatter of the locals around him. It was relaxing and definitely not a place Harry would expect to see Draco at. Harry checked his watch. Draco was fifteen minutes late. Had he forgotten? Had it been a joke all along? Was he honestly just trying to get rid of Harry two nights ago as he had suggested?

Then he saw him from his table in the corner of the shop. He walked past the windows and to the front door. Harry’s breath hitched in his throat. Even in the hue of faded light in the shop, Malfoy looked exquisite. He wore grey slacks, a white button up with a black sweater vest over the top. He even wore a tie. Harry looked down at himself. He felt incredibly under dressed in his jeans and his polo. Malfoy’s hair was perfectly parted at one side, it hung loosely around his face but it appeared like every strand had its place to be. Harry was absently remembering how soft that hair had felt up against his cheek the other night.

And then – Harry was certain his heart would stop – Malfoy smiled. A genuine smile tugged at the corner of his thin lips, his grey eyes looked alight. Being caught in the handsome daze of Malfoy’s presence, Harry was suddenly rethinking that this _was_ one of his brighter ideas.

“My apologies for being so late, I was almost certain you would have left,” Draco said, gesturing at the girl behind the counter to come over as he sat down across from Harry. “Does it surprise you that I came?”

Harry realised he must have been staring at him gobsmacked and quickly recovered himself. “Sorry, I just…I thought you were having me on,” he said truthfully.

“There was a – client,” he said, his hand gesturing lazily as he searched for the right words, “That was absolutely refusing to leave my shop.”  

‘So he does still own the apothecary,’ Harry thought to himself, storing that information away for further use. The waitress came over, offering to fill Harry’s coffee, and taking Malfoy’s order. She looked between the two of them, her cheeks tinting slightly pink, before she hurried off to retrieve Malfoy’s drink.

“You own a shop?” Harry urged, finally able to find his stability somewhere between his coffee and looking anywhere but directly at Draco as his eyes focused on the wood table in front of them. Malfoy nodded, his elbows on the table, leaning forward slightly. “Er, what type of shop?”

“Whenever I answer that question, it tends to scare away any potential for a second date,” Malfoy returned coyly.

Harry looked up at him then to see him smirking bemusedly at him, his eyes were simply sparkling. Harry’s breath was caught in his throat and he nearly swallowed his tongue. The way Malfoy was looking at him, so earnestly and unguarded, had him rethinking the man entirely, almost forgetting about the boy he used to be. “Try me,” Harry returned once he found his voice.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow and before he could answer they were interrupted by the waitress who set down his drink. Once alone again, Malfoy settled back into his seat. “I sell ingredients and items that Pagans use. You know, New Age believers, Wiccans and the sort,” he explained nonchalantly.

Eternally thankful he had his cup raised to his lips, Harry used it to hide his surprise. Malfoy was being almost honest. As honest as he could be, given the Statue of Secrecy. Harry hadn’t been expecting that. “Is there a lot of money in that type of business?”

“Enough,” he said, shrugging. “Money has never been quite an issue with me.”

Harry snorted, he had known that much already. At Malfoy’s questioning look, however, he quickly covered to explain himself. “You just look, er, financially successful. Your clothes and all, and, well…” Harry blushed deeply and bit his lip. ‘Great, now I’ve been reduced to a sputtering pansy,’ he chastised himself.

Malfoy was laughing easily from his seat, his index finger lazily skimming the rim of his cup. His eyes never swayed from Harry, they were burning into him intensely. “I have been told on occasion I have a certain eye for dress,” he conceded.

“I’ve never quite understood it all, clearly,” Harry mumbled, gesturing at his foreign body and the clothes that were a bit too small for his polyjuiced form. Harry regretted having directed Malfoy’s attention to anywhere but his face because now his eyes were trailing down his torso, lingering a moment too long, before he drew back up to look at him, smiling languidly.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Malfoy drawled, leaning forward again, “I think you do just fine.”

Harry was caught staring somewhere between Malfoy’s lips and his eyes, and from that moment, he knew he didn’t stand a chance.

Time slipped by quicker than Harry would have expected. Over the three hours he spent with Malfoy at The Well, he had to rethink his entire perspective on the man before him multiple times. Malfoy shared freely with him, of his life, of his family, his past, his friends, and even his work. Of course, they weren’t whole truths, but they were half-truths. Instead of Hogwarts, Malfoy spoke of a boarding school, and instead of the wizarding war, he vaguely spoke of difficult situations his family had been a part of.

To the best of his abilities, Harry shared in return. He attempted to stray from talking about his past, about his job (which he had lied and said he worked for the Ministry of Defence as one of the lower ranking officers), and spoke more of the things he could have when he was with Maliki. Music, what he watched on the telly, books he recently read, and current politics. It had been, oddly pleasant, and once Harry had gotten over his initial shock, he was perfectly at ease speaking with Malfoy – especially not being within his own skin.

When they parted ways, Harry was even more surprised Malfoy asked nothing more of him than a kiss and if it would be alright if he could call on him again. The kiss was chaste, short, yet sweet and it lingered on Harry’s lips for hours.

Three days later, Harry was going over the date in his head once again. If he hadn’t been so preoccupied with the fact it was Malfoy he was seeing, he would have categorized it as the best date he had been on since Maliki. Malfoy was exactly who he remembered he was – but in all different ways. He was still arrogant and pompous in his own right, but intelligent, charming, funny, and what Harry couldn’t forget no matter how many times he tried, Malfoy was gorgeous.

The fact he had enjoyed himself so thoroughly irked him, and the worst of it all was that he was looking forward to seeing Malfoy again, waiting rather impatiently for his call.

Just after Harry had discovered some food in Ron’s desk at the Ministry, he left, two hours after his shift, for Diagon Alley. He had been meaning to make a trip to Flourish and Blotts for some time, hoping a new book could distract him from his borderline obsessive thoughts of Malfoy. Most unfortunately for him, Flourish and Blotts was not as empty as he had hoped it would be. Instead, it seemed some force was working against him that day and a certain blond was at the counter, talking animatedly with the clerk.

The clerk’s eyes flitted over to Harry as he entered causing Malfoy to turn around, too. As soon as their eyes met, Malfoy’s lips turned into a scowl and he turned back to the clerk. Harry felt like turning around and running back out onto the street but he couldn’t concede, not to Malfoy. Maybe the act he had given him when he played James was all just that – an act. Harry was, once again, too curious to find out.

Harry sidled around the edge of the store, hoping to stay out of Malfoy’s line of sight as he browsed for a book. When Malfoy was about to leave, Harry grabbed the nearest book to him and stopped his old school mate in his path. “Erm, how have you been, Malfoy?”

Malfoy’s eyebrows raised into his fringe, his arms crossed his chest and he glared down at Harry like he was the last person he wanted to see. “Lovely, Potter,” he bit out, “Though I don’t see how my well-being is any concern of yours.” Malfoy moved to walk around Harry but was stunned when a heavy hand gripped his forearm, stopping him. “Yes?” he spat questioningly, wrenching his arm free.

“Uh…” Harry stammered, his breath in his throat. He had nothing to offer Malfoy – to the old Slytherin, Harry was still Potter and not some man he had just gone on a date with three days ago. “Have you ever read it? Er, this?” he shoved the book in his hand towards Malfoy.

Taking a long look down at its cover, the corners of Malfoy’s lips twitched as if he were suppressing a laugh. “A hundred spells every witch should know? Potter,” he leaned forward slightly, smirking and eyes glinting mirthfully, “Is that your way of telling me I look pretty?”

Looking down at the book in his hand, Harry turned a crimson red and cursed himself. Of course that had to be the book he gathered off the shelf. “That’s not – I meant – damn,” Harry swore, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly with his free hand.

“Try _The Other Side of the Pensieve_ by Armandi Kivari, you would probably get more out of it than that,” Malfoy grinned, gesturing to the book in Harry’s hands.

With that, Malfoy left the shop leaving Harry stunned. Confused. Baffled. Harry really had no idea how he was feeling at that moment and he somehow managed to ask the clerk for the book Malfoy suggested and walked out of Flourish and Blotts with it tucked under his arm, keeping it safe from the snow. Apparating home, Harry hurried to brew himself a cup of coffee. “Maybe Malfoy has changed,” Harry mumbled to himself.

‘And if he has, what does that mean? Do I _want_ to keep seeing him? Is it safe, is it smart, for me to keep seeing him?’ he asked himself, sitting down at his kitchen table, fingering the lettering of the title of the book. It appeared to be a heavy read, but otherwise the clerk said it was one of the better titles. Written only forty years ago, it was a philosophical fiction, of objectivist nature. Harry queried why Malfoy had recommended him this book in particular.

Harry’s phone rang, startling him. As he went to answer it, his stomach nervously turned. Malfoy’s name danced across the screen. Clearing his throat, Harry answered as evenly as he could manage. “Draco, hi,” he softly greeted.

“Do you have any idea how cold it is outside today?” Malfoy quickly returned, his voice sounded slightly clipped.

“Pretty bloody cold,” Harry returned and there was a moment of silence on the other end. “Oh, is this you trying to get me to ask you to meet me at The Well? Need a cuppa?”

At the sound of Malfoy’s chuckle through the phone, Harry’s stomach twisted oddly and he found himself smiling at the sound of it. “That would be _lovely_ , James. I’ve had a rotten day and I thought you would be the perfect remedy to that.”

Harry swallowed heavily. ‘If only you knew, Malfoy,’ he muttered to himself in disbelief. “I can be there in thirty,” he offered.

“Make it an hour.”

Despite the click in Harry’s ear and the sudden stillness on the other end, Harry was suddenly smiling broadly. “Sod what’s safe and what’s smart, I’m going to see Malfoy again,” Harry said determinedly, and went off to do just that. 


	2. Chapter Two

_Far too orchestrated, far too calculated._

_‘A wizard who seldom looks backward is one who achieves the pinnacle of what is within their abilities going forward.’_

“Are you still reading that book Malfoy gave you?” Ron groaned as he entered Harry’s kitchen.

Harry startled and looked up from the book, frowning at his friend. “It’s surprisingly good. The book itself reflects an objective view of the past, overcoming its obstacles, and relating to others’ pasts,” he explained.

Sitting across from the raven-haired man. Ron eyed him carefully as he folded his hands on top of the table. “Do you reckon you’re done with Malfoy, then? I mean, as James?”

Immediately, Harry’s eyes shot up to meet Ron’s and he had to stop himself from becoming defensive. Harry felt incredibly conflicted. He knew it wasn’t right to pretend to be somebody else just so that he could spend time with Malfoy and it certainly wouldn’t go over well if he revealed himself to him. Harry, though he knew he should disappear from his radar entirely, simply didn’t want to. He had been inexplicably drawn to Malfoy ever since New Year’s Eve and even though he innately knew why he was, he still hadn’t come to accept it. “I don’t think so – I know I should be! – but there’s too much I want to know,” Harry admitted truthfully, interjecting quickly before Ron could.

“Like what, mate? It’s just Malfoy, I don’t get what’s so curious about it. The bloke’s gay, he goes out with Muggles sometimes…I mean, are you sure…” Ron bit his lower lip, trailing off. “If you wanted to keep seeing him for other reasons, you know it wouldn’t bother us, right?” he offered.

Harry sighed. “I-I don’t know if I do. I just know I’m not quite finished,” he said earnestly. There was no use lying to Ron. He had met Malfoy three times in the past week and each time had been more pleasant than the last. Malfoy always had something to say and even when he didn’t, he made the silences between them comfortable. He didn’t know much about Muggle culture, but he feigned indifference on certain subjects and happily indulged in the cinema with Harry once, and he seemed quite keen on Muggle cafés. They got along so easily, but Harry knew none of that could be true if he wasn’t parading around as James. If he revealed who he was, everything would fall apart. Malfoy would go back to hating him, scowling, and would refuse to see him again. For some reason, that knowledge didn’t sit well with Harry.

But in reality, would Malfoy really go back to hating him? At Flourish and Blotts he had actually been civil, he was even being somewhat playful with his teasing instead of hurtful in his comments. Where had this new Malfoy come from, anyway? That was Harry’s largest unanswered question.

“Are you in there?” Ron was waving a hand in front of his face now. Harry scowled lightly at him and leaned back in his chair. “You really have it in for him, don’t you?” he asked, his face twisted into equal parts disgust and understanding.

“He’s just…confusing,” Harry said. “You said you wanted to go to Diagon Alley with me today, right?” he quipped, steering the conversation away from Malfoy. He already thought about the blond prat enough as it was, he needn’t be talking about him all hours of the day, too.

Ron seemed relieved at the change of topic and hurried them both along towards the Floo, merely raising an eyebrow at the fact Harry was toting his book along with him on the inside of his cloak. Once they hit the streets of Diagon Alley, they both shivered against the cool winter air. They walked contently for a while, talking idly about work, Hermione and the kids, and the newly reported repairs at Hogwarts – the school was still expanding and rebuilding after all these years.

“You really wouldn’t mind, if I saw Malfoy?” Harry cautiously approached the question.

“It’s pretty strange, mate, you have to admit that. But otherwise? He’s kept his head down since the war, he paid for being the arse he was back at school. I just can’t see this polyjuice situation ending very well, Harry. Hermione and I, we just don’t want Maliki to happen all over again,” he elucidated.

Harry sighed. He understood their concern but he was relieved at their understanding. Despite not accepting how he was beginning to develop feelings for Malfoy, all be it that they were founded on a physical attraction, it made him feel more comfortable with the situation knowing he had support.

The two friends finally wandered to their last destination, and Harry’s only purpose for going to Diagon Alley that day, Weasley Wizarding Wheezes. The shop wasn’t as crowded as it was during the summer months making it easier to move around the large array of products. Ron and Harry made their way up stairs, calling for George as they did.

The lone twin emerged from behind what appeared to be an unstable shelf, his face immediately breaking out into a grin. “Back again so soon, Harry?” he chimed.

“Er, yeah, I need some more…” he trailed off, despite the shop being nearly empty he still didn’t feel comfortable talking about it openly.

George raised an eyebrow. “C’mon, let’s not linger up here…there’s a bloody pesky little pygmy puff that got loose and it keeps setting off those snappers I made last week. Don’t want one of those stuck in your ear.”

George left Ron in charge of the shop as he led Harry up to his flat. He went into his bedroom and came out a few minutes later with a large rectangular container which housed a variety of potions. “I only have three left,” he told Harry, placing the container on his living room table, propping it open.

Harry gazed at the assortment of potions, all labelled and some appeared rather questionable in nature. George tossed him the three vials in question to which he gratefully pocketed. “You into something, Harry?” George asked concernedly.

“No, not really. I just…” Harry shook his head, he couldn’t explain himself to George.

“It’s alright. Just be careful, hrm? Too much of this stuff can’t be good for someone,” George winked, shutting his case of potions.

“I will be. George, are there any variations of polyjuice that last longer?” Harry asked hopefully as he fished in his pocket for his coins. “How much?”

“For you, ten,” George took the offered Galleons. “Stronger variations?” he repeated, thinking for a moment. “Not that I’ve heard of, Harry, but you could always ask Hermione.”

Harry frowned, “She’s not exactly understanding of my purpose in using the polyjuice,” he mumbled.

“Could always write Slughorn,” George suggested, “If anybody would know it’d be him.”

Later that afternoon, after spending some time with Ron, Hermione and his godchildren, including Teddy whom Harry was thankful for seeing, he hurried home to pen a fast note to Slughorn. He attempted his hand at formality, however, was quick to ask what he needed. Somehow, Slughorn still remained the Potions Master at Hogwarts even without Harry’s influence holding him to the position any longer.

By the time evening came around, Harry was surprised by his own growing confidence as he was able to ring Malfoy of his own volition and ask him to meet. Unfortunately for Harry, Malfoy had different plans for them that evening.

“I have company at the moment, but they were just _leaving_. It would be lovely if you could come over, James,” Malfoy stressed loudly and Harry could hear chortles of responses in the background. 

“Er, I’d rather not intrude if you-“

“Nonsense, I prefer you to these swine I call friends. Should I be expecting – Zabini! Quit being such a prat and put her _down!_ ” he yelled half-heartedly, nearly deafening Harry.

Harry found himself agreeing, though he knew he shouldn’t considering this meant he would be inside Malfoy’s home. Alone. And quite possibly while Malfoy was under the influence. It wasn’t much later that Harry found himself, disguised as James with an extra prepared polyjuice ready in his pocket, knocking on the unfamiliar front door of Draco Malfoy.

The house was three stories high and certainly a large home for London, however, it wasn’t the type of place Harry had imagined Malfoy living in. Greeting him at the door was an impeccably dressed Malfoy, as always, but his smile was lazy and lopsided, his hair more dishevelled than usual. Harry raised his eyebrows questioningly at him and before he could ask just what he had been up to, Malfoy was grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and dragging their bodies together.

Malfoy’s lips crashed onto his for a hard kiss, his tongue edging its way out and in between Harry’s lips. Hands travelled up Harry’s back, fingers trailing his spine through his shirt as Malfoy claimed his mouth and tongue with his own – kissing him with vigour. It took Harry a moment before he began to reciprocate, noting the strong taste of dark wine on Malfoy’s tongue as his own hands moved to encircle the man.

Almost as quickly as he had advanced on him, Malfoy distanced them, a smirk playing on his swollen lips. “I have wanted to do that again since New Year’s Eve. I really do enjoy kissing you,” he drawled and gestured Harry into his house.

Looking around at his surroundings had Harry feeling surreal, especially when Malfoy pulled him up to his side once Harry toed of his own shoes. With an arm around his waist, Malfoy led Harry through his foyer and down a wide corridor. Harry was looking wildly about for any recognizable signs of Draco’s past, of his wizarding life and heritage, but he found none. It looked like an ordinary, although large and well-kept, Muggle home.

As was customary, Malfoy showed him about the lower level of his house before settling them in what appeared to be a large study. It was pristine and Harry was about to ask how he kept such a place so clean but decided against it; he knew Malfoy probably had House Elves to do his work for him still. House Elves carefully instructed to make themselves scarce with such company.

“Drink?” Malfoy offered as he waved his hand at the Chesterfield for Harry to sit.

“Er, sure, as long as it’s not wine,” Harry mumbled, settling down on the Chesterfield, attempting to make himself comfortable. He looked around his surroundings, it seemed like a perfectly normal study. However, the titles etched on the spines of some of the books were most certainly questionable – to a Muggle, that is.

“Shame. Wine is one of the finer things in life; and it only gets better with age,” he was standing over by a tall window, overlooking the side of his small yard, where an assortment of unlabelled glass bottles were set with an array of glasses. “Whiskey?”

Harry uttered an agreement to the drink and once he had it resting in his hands, he couldn’t help but to supress a smirk at the familiar smell. ‘Firewhiskey,’ he thought to himself, tipping it back, savouring the taste. Malfoy had settled beside him in the Chesterfield, his one leg crossed over his knee, his arm lounging behind Harry’s head. “Lovely,” Harry said, his lips smacking as he gestured at his glass, “I don’t think I’ve ever had it before,” he lied.

“Ah, you wouldn’t,” Malfoy returned, “The brewer is a personal friend of mine; can’t get whiskey like that in a part of England like this.”

“Hmm,” Harry hummed noncommittally. He wondered how often Malfoy had other men over, other supposed Muggles, and had said the same things, rehearsed the same lines. A silence wrapped around them for a moment, Harry was able to first hear that there was a soft, distant jazz playing somewhere in the house but not in the same room. He had to hide a snigger; Malfoy was the embodiment of the attempt to be refined.

A hand fell on Harry’s exposed forearm, causing him to startle and Malfoy to chuckle at his sudden movement. “Are you okay, James? I was calling on you but it appeared to slip right passed you.”

Harry smiled half-heartedly, taking another sip of the Firewhiskey, his thoughts soothing as it burned down his throat. “Sorry, just had a bit of a long day. What am I listening to?” he asked, needing to divert the attention from himself.

Mafoy smiled, relaxing into the Chesterfield. “The Careless Lovers. They remind me of something older, but new. Like a fresh look at an old genre,” he explained.

“You’ve managed that twice,” Harry observed aloud, turning slightly in his seat so he was mostly facing Malfoy now who was watching him intently. “Appreciating something that’s old, but for its newer qualities,” he clarified.

The smile on Malfoy’s face faltered into a frown. “I can understand the necessities of the past but as well I prefer to use the reflections as such to be the person I am now.”

Harry felt somewhat stunned by his words. The revelation of knowing exactly what Malfoy meant, connecting it to the Malfoy he knew, was somewhat staggering. “I, uh, that’s certainly one way to look at it.”

Malfoy shifted on the Chesterfield, bring his one crossed leg fully upon it, letting his arm that was behind Harry fall so that it found its way to resting behind his neck. His hand absently wove itself into his thick hair, his fingers gently teasing the ends. “Do you like it? The music?” Malfoy asked, his voice had suddenly become low and Harry was no virgin to that tone.

Swallowing, he slowly nodded before tipping the rest of his Firewhiskey back. He wasn’t sure why he had agreed to come over to Malfoy’s in the first place. He merely wanted to see him, talk to him, not _this_. But what else could he expect? They were two twenty-eight year old men who had been seeing each other, kissing one another, regularly for a week now. They were no strangers to sexual activity and certainly neither were prudes. ‘Merlin, what have I gotten myself into here?’ Harry inwardly groaned.

“I’ve not listened to a lot,” Harry finally admitted, “I’m more of a reader myself.”

“Well, you know where to come if you ever run dry on materials,” Malfoy said good-naturedly. Harry raised an eyebrow despite himself, ‘Malfoy is confident enough to even go so far as to lend books from his library? Books I happen to know for a fact were most likely purchased at Flourish and Blotts? He’s rather confident, or stupid, I’m not sure which.’ “Another drink?” he offered, his fingers now detangling from his hair and tracing small circles on the back of his neck.

“I can think of something better to do with my mouth than drink,” Harry responded, surprising himself and Malfoy. Harry put his glass down on the table before them and leaned forward, his hand pressing against Malfoy’s cheek to angle his lips better to meet his own. He kissed him softly at first, Malfoy was still for a moment, but when he began to respond Harry felt his reactions to his lips shudder through him.

Harry hadn’t understood where the urge to kiss Malfoy had come from, but he had forgotten he shouldn’t be almost immediately. It was too easy to be with him, it felt too good to have his face in his hands, feel his body against his own, taste the mixture of his breath and the wine on his tongue. Malfoy moved flawlessly against him once he began to react. He was bolder than Harry in his actions, but not nearly as determined.

Malfoy maneuvered himself so he was fully on the couch now, his legs somehow had snuck in behind Harry’s back and the other in his front. Harry was leaning forward, nearly sprawled on top of Malfoy, as their lips barely left one another’s. Hands were exploring his back, his buttocks, his thighs, and all the way back up again till they entwined in his hair. It was certainly an odd feeling, not one he ever liked to revel in, being touched and aroused in skin that wasn’t his own.

Having a need to catch his breath, Harry broke their feverish kiss and leaned up on his hands, looking down at Malfoy. His eyes searched his features, his hair slightly tousled, eyes heavy with hunger, lips open and swollen. Harry felt something turn in his stomach, as if a light had gone on in his head. This was _Malfoy_ , and here he was snogging him on his Chesterfield? Harry’s face must have paled because Malfoy’s reflected confusion as Harry pushed himself entirely off the couch.

As his feet hit the floor, they crunched on glass that had already been lying there. “Bollocks! I’m sorry, Draco, I-“ Harry looked at the shattered wine glass beneath his shoe and Malfoy’s face of contorted confusion and began to make a run for it.

“Hey, James! Stop!” Malfoy called after him, hurrying from the Chesterfield. He caught him in the corridor, wrenching him by the wrist hard enough that Harry spun back around, the front of their bodies slamming forcefully together. Being as Malfoy had had a few drinks, he was slightly off balance and he stumbled into the wall, his back against it, Harry’s body pressing into his own. “Bloody hell, James, what was that for?”

Harry’s heart was racing in his chest, he was certain Malfoy could feel it because with his free hand that wasn’t holding Harry’s wrist hostage, he reached between them and pressed his palm to his chest. “What is it?” he asked gently.

The tone made Harry cringe. Malfoy wasn’t supposed to be this kind, not to him. “I just got out of a long relationship,” he said at last, which was a half-truth. He had – but that wasn’t particularly the issue that was bothering him. In fact, ever since he began to see Malfoy, he barely thought about Maliki at all. He wasn’t even tempted to return to Heaven. This dawning realisation mortified him.

Malfoy’s look softened considerably as did his grip. “You told me. Maliki?”

Harry nodded slowly. “What he did to me…I just haven’t been close to anybody since then,” he said, lying through his teeth. He had multiple partners since his separation, but none of those partners had been Malfoy.

“I understand. But can I tell you something, James?” Malfoy asked, he fully let go of Harry’s wrist now and brought it to the small of his back, gently holding him there, as his other hand still pressed into his chest, feeling his heartbeat. “I was a bastard before you met me, years ago. I was the worst person imaginable you could have met,” he began honestly, with a bitter edge to his voice.

“But, you said that was all your parents doing?” Harry returned quietly, disbelieving his own ears of hearing Malfoy talk about himself like this.

Malfoy shook his head. “It was, but I can’t blame other people for my actions. I was a coward, I was a prat. But I have changed. There isn’t a bone inside of me that could hurt somebody like that, not truly. I never have and never will be a cheater, James. Relationships are not my strengths, this I can admit, but if I were in one, I would never do what Maliki did to you.”

Harry was certain he was holding his breath because he felt like he was about to faint. It was too surreal. “For now, James, you excite me. I enjoy spending time with you when I can. I am a grown man and any physical act will not automatically commit you, nor will it mean that the second you turn away I will find somebody else,” Malfoy continued, trying to explain. “Do you trust me not to hurt you?” he asked, leaning forward, his breath on Harry’s lips.

Harry felt himself go weak. “I do,” and the frightening thing was, he did. At his words, Malfoy closed their distance again.

Their lips moved together, their tongues pushed back and forth into one another’s mouths, neither content on remaining submissive in the interaction. Harry wasn’t sure what possessed him – the liquor, the scent of Malfoy’s fragrant shampoo, the way he was suddenly rotating his hips into his – but he found himself invigorated and aggressive despite his trepidation of only moments ago. His fingers were carding through Malfoy’s hair, his other hand working his shirt out of his slacks. He wanted this, he wanted it back on the couch, too, he wanted it the moment he saw Malfoy in Heaven, the only thing that was stopping him was the paralyzing fear of being hurt.

They broke apart only for a moment as Harry pulled his shirt over his head, mussing his hair as he did. Immediately, they came together again, Harry pulling greedily on his blond strands, another hand exploring the newly exposed territory. Malfoy was lean all over and Harry was rapidly becoming obsessed with the contours of his chest; he became lost in the map of Malfoy’s body.

Malfoy suddenly withdrew from the kiss, his lips swollen and eyes glazed with a look that mesmerized Harry. “We could move this to the bedroom, if you wish.”

Harry, mortified at the insinuation behind those words, quickly pushed forward into Malfoy again. He ground into him hard enough that their pricks rubbed together, causing Malfoy to hiss and his grip, currently on Harry’s sides, to tighten. Harry brought his lips to the porcelain skin of Malfoy’s neck, sucking, biting, finding and memorizing the sensitive areas. “I want to taste you,” Harry rumbled between his oral ministrations. “Right here,” he added, his voice low and strong, leaving no room for consideration.

The only response Harry received was an aroused gasp as Harry let his hand slide down Malfoy’s body and palm the length of his member. Feeling that his reaction was invitation enough, Harry leaned back so that he could undo and ease Malfoy out of his trousers. What he found there caused his cheeks to flame red, his cock to twitch, and his eyes to widen.

“I am not particularly inclined to pants,” Malfoy drawled, grinning bemusedly as he looked down at Harry’s surprise.

“All the time?” Harry croaked, his eyes still unable to peel away from the sight of Malfoy’s cock. It was long and thing, just like the rest of him, and its head was wet.

A low laugh rumbled gently in Malfoy’s chest. “Only when I know a certain gorgeous man is paying me an evening – _ah_ ,” his words were abruptly stopped as Harry could no longer resist grabbing a hold of his prick. He let his hand, squeezing gently, move up and down its length. He then took a step back, looking over Malfoy as his fingers lightly ran across his head.

Harry couldn’t believe what his eyes were seeing. Surely he must have been dreaming – or insane. Draco Malfoy, convicted Death Eater, was leaning against a wall, his body hot and beginning to perspire with arousal, his eyes boring into Harry with unadulterated desire. It was the most arousing, beautiful thing Harry had ever witnessed.

Lowering himself to his knees, Harry had to force himself to look away from Malfoy’s face and concentrate on the task at hand. Harry swallowed his nerves, he really did want to taste Malfoy and even more than that he wanted to see and hear him reach the height of pleasure at Harry’s mouth. Unfortunately, he had never been talented at giving oral pleasure, but he couldn’t let that hold him back, he _needed_ to give Malfoy his best and nothing less.

“James,” Malfoy breathed, one hand steadying himself against the wall, the other carding through Harry’s hair and gently pulling him forward.

Harry answered the request and slowly brought his tongue to Malfoy’s head. He relished the taste of his arousal, running his tongue and lips down the underside of his length. The hand woven into his hair began to tighten and Harry could feel Malfoy’s body tense even further, his breathing becoming sharp. At last, Harry closed his eyes and opened his mouth, engulfing half of Malfoy’s cock.

The hand in his hair was nearly hurting him, but it merely enthused Harry. He let the grip at the base of Malfoy’s cock slide down to his balls, palming them gently as he sucked and moved in a quick, vigorous rhythm. Harry tried to take all of Malfoy into his mouth and throat but to no avail, he swallowed his own gag reflexes every time he hit his limit.

Chancing a look upwards, Harry opened his eyes and was mystified at the look on Malfoy’s face. He was absolutely lost in pleasure, his mouth hanging open slightly, his brows knitted together, and his breathing erratic. Harry tugged on his balls to watch his reaction. Malfoy shook, and Harry could feel him push more heavily up against the wall for support. “Fuck, James, if you keep that up I’m going to come.”

Harry responded with working harder at his member but was abruptly pulled off, swearing at the pain in his head from Malfoy yanking him back by his hair. He looked up accusingly at him but quickly silenced his own qualms as Malfoy was smirking devilishly. “I simply can’t come without giving you something, too, James. Where would my manners be?” he drawled, stepping out of his slacks fully now, bending over and picking them up, and he took Harry by the hand and led him back into the study.

“But, I’m fine, I-“ Harry started but lost his ability to speak as Malfoy led him to the Chesterfield, stood him before it, and sat down on it. His head was now hovering around Harry’s navel, his hands were quick to work him out of his slacks. Malfoy pulled down his trousers and pants, grinning at the unashamedly hard cock before him now. As he gripped it, Harry felt his world grow weak and dazed. He was ordered to take off his shirt, which he did without question. “I don’t want to…” he had begun but Malfoy flicked out his tongue, running it over his head, causing him to groan.

Pulling back, Malfoy slid over on the Chesterfield, careful to avoid the shattered glass. “Mind your feet,” he warned Harry, and invited him to sit. “We don’t have to do anything more than what you were already doing, James, I just thought it might be more satisfying if we could do it to each other, together,” he offered slyly.

Harry choked on his breath and all but stumbled onto the Chesterfield at the thought of the act. He had never done what Malfoy was suggesting and he wasn’t sure of the mechanics behind it all but suddenly he didn’t feel so worried as Malfoy’s hand found his shoulder and eased him to lying down on the Chesterfield, his back against it, his front against Malfoy’s. “Can we?” he questioned, pressing into Harry, those grey eyes begging for that satisfaction that Harry wanted to give him.

“Bloody hell, yes. Please,” he added earnestly. He may not have been worried of the act anymore, but he had not been prepared for the frontal nature it had to offer.

After adjusting both of them for a few moments, Malfoy was finally settled between Harry’s legs. Upside down. And Harry was settled between Malfoy’s legs. No, this was certainly something he had never done before and though it was exceedingly embarrassing, it didn’t stop his arousal from growing. Harry gasped and nearly lost himself as he felt Malfoy take his prick into his mouth from the different angle; it was a feeling so unfamiliar to Harry but he immediately coveted it.

It took him a few moments before Harry was able to reciprocate and he felts himself become aggressively bold once again as Malfoy tasted him with vigour in return. Harry’s hands gripped Malfoy’s arse and he helped the leverage to ease him into his mouth. It wasn’t long before Malfoy’s mouth became erratic in its movements and suddenly Harry was swallowing his come and at its taste he was taken overboard as well, moaning deep in his chest as he released himself into Malfoy.

Harry’s body shivered after his release and he was glad that he soon found himself being enveloped in Malfoy’s arms. He was being pulling onto his chest, so that he was half on the Chesterfield and half lying on top of Malfoy. “Draco, that was brilliant,” Harry breathed. “Thank you, for that and for making me stay.”

Malfoy trailed his fingers up Harry’s side absently. “I certainly did not force you to stay, I merely showed you which option you were more inclined to take.”

“Well, thank you,” he reiterated, relaxing into his chest and draping an arm lazily across his midriff. Harry successfully supressed all screaming thoughts about him having just swallowed Malfoy’s orgasm, of lying naked there with him, and simply let himself be for the time being. “Sorry about your glass.”

“I was the one who dropped it when you first start kissing me,” Malfoy drawled, slightly amused. “I am surprised you did not notice. I’m glad you did not hurt your foot on it, and besides, it was well worth it.” He used his hand to angle Harry’s face towards him and kissed him chastely, smiling against his lips. Harry smiled genuinely back.

* * *

“Harry, you can’t seriously be considering going.”

“I agree with her on this one, mate.”

“You shouldn’t even be doing this in the first place; awful things can happen when you live your life through polyjuice,” Hermione said seriously.

“I’ve only enough for one more transformation. What do you reckon I should do?” Harry returned bitterly as he pulled his cloak on. He didn’t need their permission, he knew the risks in what he was doing, and furthermore he knew how wrong it was.

Hermione stood from her friend’s kitchen table and placed a hand gently on his shoulder. “Be honest, Harry. Do anything but this.”

“You expect me to just walk in there and tell Draco I’ve been sneaking around under a polyjuice to see him for the past month?” Harry returned incredulously. “He’ll take me as barmy, and then he’ll hate me for abusing his trust – for lying.”

Ron groaned. “You’re practically dating Malfoy, you already are barmy.”

Harry blushed, turning away from his friends and shrugging. “I need to keep doing this, I just…I wish I didn’t have to use the polyjuice, I wish I could just be me with him but it won’t work. You both know he wouldn’t be with me otherwise,” he said miserably.

“You really care about him,” Hermione commented softly. “Harry, I just think you should consider your options.”

“Probably shouldn’t be showing up at his apothecary, neither,” Ron mumbled.

“Slughorn said if I wanted a polyjuice that could last longer, the only person he could think to help would be Draco,” he returned. “I understand both of your concerns, but this is the happiest I’ve been since Maliki. Can’t I just have this, for a while?”

Hermione sighed. “Of course,” she said, defeated.

“Just be careful, ‘eh?” Ron added.

Harry nodded, smiling half-heartedly over his shoulder at his friends. “Thanks, I will,” he bowed his head goodbye to them and closed his eyes, apparating out of his kitchen with a crack.

It was a muggle street where he appeared, off the side between two narrow buildings. Louth appeared to be a quaint town, but Harry didn’t care for the scenery, he was nervous enough as it was and didn’t need the distractions. A few shops down from where he had appeared was one particular shop. It was set further back into the street than the others, and it appeared most Muggles passed by without a second glance. However, there were a few individuals that came and went wearing cloaks.

Biting his lip, Harry read the sign, ‘Artephius’. With a deep breath, he walked through the door. The bell rang above him causing the clerk to look towards him. The clerk was a younger female with short brown hair, she smiled warmly at Harry. “Welcome, is there anything I can help you find?”

Harry smiled nervously at her as he slowly approached the counter. “Er, I was wondering if…I need a word with the owner. Is he in?”

The girl frowned, her demeanor immediately altering. “He won’t be seeing anybody today,” she said, with little room for argument.

“I think he may have time for me. Is he here?”

She looked behind her shoulder to a door in the back of the shop and back at Harry, nodding. “Down in his laboratory, but even I’m not allowed down there. Nobody is,” she clarified.

Harry sighed and came as close to her as he could from his side of the counter, slowly bringing his hand up to his fringe and brushing it back pointedly. The female clerk looked at his forehead and gasped. “I think he might have time for me?” he reiterated.

“H-Harry Potter?” she stuttered, “What do you want with Mr. Malfoy?”

“A private matter. Please, can you just tell him I’m here?” he asked.

At last the girl nodded and left from behind her counter towards the door. She knocked on it loudly, receiving a curt response which Harry couldn’t hear from his spot at the counter. “Mr. Harry Potter is here to see you,” she called loudly.

There were a few others in the shop that immediately turned their attention towards Harry. She seemed surprised as she returned to Harry. “He said you can go down.”

Harry straightened his robes once more before he walked around to the door and let himself inside. He was met with a long, narrow staircase which was poorly lit. At the landing of the staircase, he was opened to a large, circular room with a great many sources of light. There were a few tables, all of which contained different size and colours of cauldrons, different ladles, spoons, and stirring sticks, and countless vials containing ingredients, completed potions, some labelled and some not.

Draco was standing hunched over one cauldron in particular, his back to Harry, his right arm steady on the edge of the table, his left stirring vigorously. “Er, hello Mal-“

“Quiet, Potter, I have a few more turns that need to be precisely four seconds each,” he quickly cut him off.

Walking further into the room, Harry spotted one chair before a desk littered with pieces of scrap parchment. He nearly welcomed himself to sitting in it, but thought otherwise. This was Malfoy to him, not Draco, and Harry had to be careful not to act or sound like James.

At last, Draco turned around to him, his lips pulled into a fine line and his arms tightly crossed. He was wearing a collared shirt but it was rolled up passed his elbows. Draco had told James the particular tattoo meant nothing and was a stupid idea he had years ago; Harry knew better and his eyes narrowed at it briefly. “Is there something I can help you with, Potter?”

“Uh,” Harry scratched the back of his neck before remembering the heavy weight in his cloak pocket. “Oh! Uh, this,” he scrambled to pull out the book he made sure to bring. “It was actually a good read, Malfoy. Thank you for recommending it.”

Draco raised an eyebrow slowly, trying to keep the bemusement from his features. “You came all the way to Louth to tell me you read something for once?” he drawled.

Harry blushed red, shaking his head. “I just was curious why you had recommended this particular book to me…and I need a favour.”

His eyebrow rose even higher, still, disappearing completely behind his fringe. “You need a favour from _me_? I never thought the day would come,” he said dryly. “As for the book,” Draco continued, turning his back to Harry and striding over to the desk, shuffling a few of the papers distractedly, “I thought it would suit you,” he simply said. Harry’s blush grew at his words and he desperately hoped it would disappear.

“Suit me, or suit what people think about you?” Harry quipped, regretting the question.

The muscles in Draco’s back tightened and he whirled around, his lips now pulled back into a snarl. Harry unashamedly wanted to kiss it away. “Get to the point, Potter, I’m busy.”

“I need a polyjuice potion. Not just any polyjuice, I need something that lasts longer. Something stronger than what the original recipe can brew,” Harry explained, quickly adding, “Slughorn said if anybody could help me, it would be you.”

At the praise from the old Professor, a smug smile grew on Draco’s face. “The old crow’s right about that.”

“Humble as always, Malfoy,” Harry returned with a teasing edge. Draco sneered at him but upon seeing his tentative smile, he stopped himself. “Can you help me?”

“Depends. What is in it for me?”

“Anything,” Harry said too quickly to stop himself. “I-I mean, name your price.”

“I don’t need any more money, Potter, and certainly not _yours_ ,” he jeered.

Harry chewed on his lower lip. Being in such close proximity to Draco, it was difficult to keep himself for reaching out and touching him. “Is there not anything I can give you?”

Draco smirked. “Actually, there is. A certain redheaded _weasel_ will not stop owling me. I know you have control over the lot of them and if you could tell him to bugger off, for eternity that would be splendid.”

“A Weasley? Which Weasley?” Harry was honestly surprised, he knew it wasn’t Ron.

“George,” Draco supplied, waving his hand absently at his name. “Wants me to supply some rather questionable potions for his business.”

“Really? He never told me that,” Harry mumbled more to himself.

“And are all Weasleys supposed to report all activities of the evil naysayer back to the Chosen One?” Draco grinned, to which Harry was going to retort but upon realising he was joking, he smiled.

“I can do that. Now, can you or can’t you make me a stronger polyjuice potion?”

“Yes, but it will take two lunar cycles,” at Harry’s distraught look, Draco continued, “I can supply you with regular polyjuice until then. Is the Golden Boy in trouble, is that why you need polyjuice?”

“Always am,” Harry smirked. “Is there, er, anything you need me to get to help? Or a payment you need ahead of schedule?”

“I said I do not need your money, Potter,” Draco clipped. “I will owl you on the progress of the potions when I have made any. How many will you be needing?”

“Ah, er…a continual supply?”

Draco turned to him, his face flashing with concern for a moment before he slid his mask into place. “That is not safe, Potter. Maintaining a life under a polyjuice is not only stressful but also may have lasting effects – the only individual who has ever used it for a long period of time is dead.”

“My life is not your concern,” Harry said quickly.

Draco looked as if he wanted to say something else but quickly closed his mouth, eyes narrowing. “Fine, if you wish. I will owl you my progress,” he repeated.

“Thank you, Malfoy, I appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it,” he paused, “Really. Don’t mention it, to anyone if you can manage.”

Harry shook his head, laughing under his breath as he headed towards the stairs. “I’ll be waiting for your owl, Malfoy.”  


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another lovely thanks to Arithmancy Master/Allison for her continual beta work. And thank you to all the readers and for the comments/reviews, they are always appreciated!

_A conductor, just a conductor. Pointing at me, hearing me speak._

The exhaustion had begun as March came about; by the beginning of May, it was consuming him.

Each day was different, yet each day was the same. The more time he spent with Draco, polyjuiced as James, the more Harry found it difficult to return to his real life. He hadn’t seen his godchildren in what felt like ages, and he felt like he never slept and any sleep he did receive was never satisfactory.

Hermione and Draco both had warned Harry that this extensive use of polyjuice would leave him feeling strained. They weren’t exaggerating in the slightest, Harry came to learn. At work, he was taking far more sick days than he had ever wished to, and even when he was there he was never paying as much of attention as he should. He was called to a simple thieving scene and lost a duel against a nineteen year-old witch, leaving him with yet another permanent scar, this one on his right upper arm.

The relationship of James and Draco was excelling, slower than most would, and Harry had yet to commit fully sexually or emotionally. He knew one day he would have to - or he would have to leave, but he was putting that day off for as long as possible. Ron and Hermione were still concerned with his use of polyjuice as well as his budding relationship with Draco, but it was more the terms of it that concerned them than who he was. This was a comfort in its own way.

It was a Friday afternoon at work when Harry received a small package from an unrecognizable owl. It was his supply of polyjuice for the next month – he would have to go and retrieve more hair from that boy at the coffee shop soon, too. With it, however, was a book with a piece of parchment stuck to the front cover. “This one is for you. Enjoy. PS. I hope you heed my advice regarding the potion. Malfoy,” he read aloud.

Peeling off the note, Harry grinned. It was another book by the same author, Kivari, but titled ‘ _A Destiny of Our Own Choosing_ ’. Ron had commented how this Kivari author was something of a philosophical self-help writer for the wizarding community, which was surprising to think of Draco reading his works at first, but now it made sense. Draco certainly had changed and not just when he was interacting with Muggles; he was much more level-headed, calm, and his correspondences with Harry had been civil, if not bordering friendly.

Harry’s mobile suddenly went off, startling him. His grin grew into a smile as he answered it, knowing it could be nobody other than who it was. Harry cleared his throat, changing his voice slightly to that he used as James. “Draco,” he said, waving his wand at his office door to close it, allowing himself his privacy.

“Come out tonight, James,” the blond said immediately.

“Out? To The Well? The cinema?” Harry paused, his jaw clenching as he recalled the near disaster of an evening he had spent a month ago out at a bar with a certain crowd of Slytherins, “With your friends?”

Draco chuckled, hearing his apprehension. “They meant no harm, James. But no, neither of those. I wanted to go out dancing.”

“Dancing? You already know I’m rubbish.”

“Liar. I have it on good authority you look and feel fantastic on a dance floor. I want to go back to Heaven, with you.”

The suggestion left Harry’s mouth dry, his heart skipping a beat. “H-heaven?” he stuttered. Ever since he had met Draco, in this new light, Heaven was the last place he wanted to go. Maliki, who would most certainly be there on a Friday evening, was the last person he wanted to see. “I don’t know, Draco…why tonight?”

“I am bloody bored, James. Between a boyfriend who refuses to bugger me and work, I need a change of pace.”

Harry blushed, glad Draco couldn’t see him through their phones. “Fine, Heaven. Seven?”

“Can I pick you up?” Draco asked quickly.

“Er, no, your place is closer…”

Draco sighed. He had been attempting to come over to Harry’s flat for the past two months, to no avail, as Harry most certainly could not hide who he was as soon as Malfoy stepped into it. “Fine. Seven,” he clipped in response, hanging up the phone.

Harry groaned. Everything had been going splendidly with Draco, he didn’t want to go to Heaven which had the potential to muck everything up. Not to mention, he was certain his brain would not survive a few more hours of being awake – not in the state of eternal weariness he was imprisoned in.

Seven o’clock that evening Harry found himself waiting nervously on Draco’s doorstep. He had rung multiple times but to no avail. At last, Draco joined him, but he did not seem to be alone. “I said I will be back _late_ , Mother. Please see yourself out,” he snarled, slamming the door shut. As he turned to Harry, he laughed as he registered the brunet’s gobsmacked look. “Mother came for a surprise visit, and unless you wish to meet her I suggest we hurry along.”

‘Narcissa Malfoy was just in there. Narcissa Malfoy,’ Harry repeated to himself, having to physically shake the thought from his head. “Er, are we taking the tube or walking?”

“Let’s walk, it’s a lovely evening,” Draco commented as started off, Harry quickly following instep beside him, and he reached his hand to his lover and entwined their fingers. Their palms pressed together gently and every few moments Draco’s digits with tighten and relax on Harry’s. “You know, I have been seeing you for four months,” he stated after a few short minutes.

“Four months? Has it really been that long?” Harry swallowed, he couldn’t believe he had been polyjuicing himself just to see Draco for the past four months.

“I wasn’t expecting anything when I went to Heaven that night. I had a…an engagement of sorts I was forced into attending by my mother. Lots of the people there were from my old school, my old life, and there were some of the few relatives I had left,” Draco began explaining.

“You said you didn’t get on with your old school mates anymore?” Harry quipped, knowing the truth of it was that they saw Draco as a traitor to purebloods after the trial. Most of the old Slytherins and the rest of the surviving members of his family disliked the two living Malfoys for one thing or another.

Draco nodded, his grip tightening on Harry’s hand. “There were words and then it had become physical between myself and a man named Nott.” Harry tensed at the name, gritting his teeth, he had to turn his face away from Draco. He had heard that Nott was still a believer and he had a dossier on the man back in his office at the Ministry. “I had to leave, before something worse happened. I stumbled on Heaven and thought I really had ended up lucky that night. I had never known such a place existed so close to my own home. When I went inside, I was in love with it. The music may be unrefined, as with the manner of the place, but I felt like I could just _be._ Then I saw you and I knew it wouldn’t be a wasted New Year’s – I wouldn’t let it be.”

“Why me, though? There were plenty of other single men at the bar, you could have had your pick,” Harry returned, not negatively on his own behalf but out of true curiosity.

“Could I have?” Draco grinned. “I could say that it was your looks, or your plain dress, the fact you were alone and weren’t trying as hard to be noticed like everybody else, but…” he paused thoughtfully, “You looked like you were trying to get away from something, too.”

Harry sighed at the truth of that statement. “Every time I went to Heaven it was to get away from work, and at the same time it’s like torturing myself. I must be a bloody masochist or something with all the times I went back there.”

“Masochist? I can work with that,” Draco drawled teasingly, bending down slightly to his side and breathing in Harry’s ear as they walked, causing him to shiver. Draco chuckled and straightened up again. “Why is Heaven like torture?”

“He’s always there. Maliki. It’s where we met, where he cheated on me, where he spends all of his free time,” Harry explained. “After we broke up, I would sneak in unnoticed just to watch him with his new boyfriend. Each time I would see how long I could stick around before I couldn’t stand it any longer. Eventually, the pain became numbing. _I_ became numb.”

Draco was looking forward, his face thoughtful as he softly spoke. “Is that why you won’t commit to me? Is it all still because of him?”

“No!” Harry said too quickly, “A little bit. Partly,” he conceded. “Ever since him I haven’t done well with commitment. I don’t want to be a part of a relationship again until I am sure it won’t end like that.”

“You will never be able to find that relationship if you are unwilling to trust another person and take that risk with them.”

“Could we not get into this now?” Harry asked quietly, “I’m going to Heaven with you, I’m here,” he squeezed Draco’s hand affectionately, “Right now with you. Isn’t that good enough? I thought you weren’t really one to question what everything was and where it was going.”

Draco frowned at that. “I am, but not when…forget it,” he said quickly, taking a deep breath. “Do you think I have dressed well enough for Heaven?”

Harry laughed. “I think you’re dressed well enough for Buckingham Palace. Which queen is it you wanted to be seeing tonight?” he teased, causing Draco to blush and nudge him gently in the side. “No, but really, you always look bloody gorgeous, Draco. I think you’d somehow still be too dressed up if you went to Heaven stark.”

“And you, are all your clothes one size too wide and too short?” Draco returned, his hand slipping from Harry’s now and around his waist, pulling him against his side as they continued to walk in unison.

Harry choked. “Er, I just haven’t shopped in a while…” he lied. Truth was, he was absolutely rubbish at properly shrinking his clothes to be fitted in his body as James.   

As they arrived at Heaven, it was busy as every Friday usually was. They waited, arms around one another as the sun finished setting, for nearly a half hour before they were allowed inside the establishment. Harry’s eyes habitually wandered over near the bar and then scanned the room until they landed on a familiar face. It wasn’t Maliki, nor his boyfriend whom he had cheated on Harry with, but one of Maliki’s friends, Joshua. Relieved that he was the only familiar face, Harry allowed Draco to lead the way to the bar where he ordered for them.

After a moment, Draco was paying the bartender and shoving a small shot glass into Harry’s hand. “I brought you here to dance,” Draco called over the music as an explanation to Harry’s confused expression, “Not to sit and drink.”

Harry, who was never one to have shots or drink heavily enough to warrant them, took the dark blue mixture back and it stung his throat. As they pushed through the crowds and onto the dance floor, Draco took Harry into his arms and immediately began to move to the sound of the music. His hands slid up and down Harry’s spine, unable to remain still for longer than a moment, and his hips moved rhythmically into Harry’s, rotating, swaying, and grinding.

It was easy to become lost in Draco’s movements. He had an undeniable presence, and he moved his body as a painter would a brush. Each turn of his hips, each breath left ghosting across Harry’s skin, each time his eyes drew up to meet Harry’s full of leveled excitement and growing, brewing pleasure; Harry was becoming enraptured with Draco. The time slipped by inexplicably, Harry was lost moving against his blond boyfriend, his own hands struggling to keep a hold of him as his moves were fluid, like water sliding up on a beach and back down again – away from the shore’s reach.

There was a sickness brewing in his stomach, Harry had taken two doses of polyjuice that night and as always when he did such a thing, his body began to reject it. Draco had warned Harry – the real Harry – that such extensive use of polyjuice could make him grow an immunity to it as well as that the potion could begin to form a negative reaction. He could become allergic over time due to over exposure. But that burning in his belly, the haze that grew and thickened in his head, was all worth the moments he spent pressed up against Draco. He knew his body couldn’t handle staying under the polyjuice forever, he knew his time was slowly running out, and the thought of this made him only want to savour his time with Draco more. He wanted to have him when he could before he had to leave him – the thought of which mortified Harry more than it should have.

Draco was leading him off the dance floor suddenly, though his body was still in close proximity to Harry’s. He brought him to the side of Heaven and pressed him up against the wall, not far from the bathrooms. Draco covered Harry’s body with his own, using his hands to pin his shoulders to the wall, and ground into him as his mouth claimed Harry’s. The way his lips tasted and felt, the way his tongue moved in Harry’s mouth, intoxicated the brunet more than anything else Draco could do. If Harry had a wish, it would be to spend all day kissing Draco and showing him how much those kisses meant to Harry.

“Come on,” Draco demanded, pulling away after a moment. Underneath the ever-changing lights, Harry could see his swollen lips and his cheeks were flushed red. It was the only way he could ever tell Draco was aroused, or that languid look in his grey eyes.

“Are we going home – erm, to your house again already?” Harry inquired as Draco was pulling him by the end.

“We have already been here over an hour. I only wanted a dance…”

Harry suddenly felt the music drown out his hearing as he peered over the top of Draco’s head. In the distance, with Joshua and Daniel, stood Maliki. He had Daniel held within his arms, his body pressed close up against his back as he was talking animatedly with Joshua, the three of them laughing together. His feet suddenly felt like lead as his grip loosened in Draco’s hand.

It had been so long and still each time he saw Maliki, it hurt. Even with somebody as beautiful, as intriguing as Draco in his hand, Maliki still made him pause. “Is that him?” Draco asked. Mutely nodding, Harry shook his eyes away from Maliki and to Draco. Draco didn’t let Harry have enough time to register Maliki any more or the brief look of concern and jealousy that flashed across Draco’s face. He led them out of Heaven and onto the streets again.

The sun had long since set and as Draco walked a foot in front of Harry, though his hands still held his, he remained quiet for a few blocks. Harry used the silence to try and shake the image of Maliki from his head. He felt cheated every time he saw him with Daniel. He always seemed so _happy_. Why couldn’t he have remained happy with Harry?

‘The same reason Draco can never be happy with me, at least not for much longer…because of who I am,’ he thought somberly.

“He was good looking,” Draco commented after a few minutes of the silence.

Waking from his thoughts, Harry shook his head, squeezing Draco’s hand. “He was, I guess, but nothing like you.”

Draco shook his head, chuckling. “James, how I compare to him is hardly my concern. What _does_ concern me is that you gave him a lot more than you are willing to give me.”

Harry felt his nerves beginning to creep up again, they were breaching this subject for the second time this evening. “Draco,” he began quietly, “I just need to take things slowly this time. With Maliki, he was my first, and everything meant more than it should have. We went too fast and I regret that more than anything.”

“We are twenty eight years old, James, and it has been four months and you still refuse to tell me where you stand. Where this is going.”

“I thought you said you didn’t care? You told me, months ago back at The Well, that you didn’t want anything serious. That because of your family, you couldn’t commit!” Harry returned bitterly. He knew for a fact Draco couldn’t truly commit, he knew he couldn’t breach the Statue of Secrecy.

Suddenly, Draco had come to a stop and was spinning around, facing Harry with a furious look on his face as he glared down at him. “I didn’t care, but that was before I fucking lo-“ it was as if he angrily choked on his own words. Draco growled and turned about, huffing and walking faster as he did. Once Harry hurried to catch up he began to talk beneath his breath, just loud enough for Harry to hear him. “I didn’t care, I was horrified of commitment, and yes, I have my past issues which I unfortunately cannot share with you but if I could I would. There are other forces keeping me from sharing everything I have with you but what I do have I want to share. I really like you, James, and I am getting too old to play games when it comes to relationships.”

“I will give you more, I promise,” Harry lied; but he couldn’t accept letting go of Draco, not yet. “It just might take a while, but I will try to move faster, for you.”

Draco sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Want a drink, then?”

Harry felt relief wash over him. He was always surprised at how well Draco took to disappointment, and how well he dealt with anything that angered him lately. Many things had changed since the war and Harry felt privileged to see them all, to see Draco, for who he was now.

They finished their walk back to Draco’s house in silence and once inside, Draco firstly ensured his mother had seen herself out. Harry was glad, he wasn’t sure he was in the mood to ‘meet’ Narcissa Malfoy tonight, especially not with the way his stomach kept churning. Settled in the study on the Chesterfield with a drink in his hand, wine in Draco’s, Harry patiently waited. He knew by the contemplative look across Draco’s face that he wasn’t quite finished with their earlier topic of conversation. 

“I have told you everything I can about myself,” he stated after a while. “Perhaps not the specifics, but, everything I can share I have. At first, I wanted to escape just one single night. Then, after I saw you at The Well, I began to enjoy your company. I find myself craving it more than any other’s company, James. I understand that you wish to take your time, that is fine, but can you not at least extend the courtesy and tell me more about yourself?” Draco requested. He was looking into the fire and seated in the armchair beside the Chesterfield, his grey eyes nearly unblinking as he gripped his wine glass.

As Harry brought his glass to his lips, he realised his hand was trembling, he shook it off with a drink. “What do you want to know? You know about Maliki, he was my first, and there were a few others after that. I work a lot…I’m a Detective Inspector at the Scotland Yard. Come on, Draco, you know who I am, what else is there, really?”

“You think all there is to a person are their past relationships and their work?” Draco returned incredulously, shaking his head as he did. “Tell me about your home, where you grew up. Give me something more, James, anything,” he nearly pleaded.

“There really isn’t much to tell about that,” Harry said honestly. “I grew up at my rotten Aunt and Uncle’s house with my cousin. They were a rotten bunch so I ignored them and they ignored me. We never did get on and they clearly weren’t pleased with having me about so I stayed out of their way. My cousin made it difficult for me to have friends so there isn’t much to say there, either. Not until I went to boarding school, well…” he trailed off, Draco had already heard about his time about ‘boarding school’.

Draco finally had turned from the fireplace towards Harry, looking somewhat perturbed by what he had said. “Do you still see them, speak to them at least? They must be proud of you, working for the Yard as you do.”

Harry laughed bitterly, he really would rather not think of the Dursleys. “Before I left, we all went through a lot, not together, but separately. My Uncle is still a right bastard but my Aunt and cousin are better. I see them during the hols sometimes,” Harry said honestly, and it was the truth. Much to Vernon’s chagrin, Petunia or even Dudley would invite Harry over every few holidays. Perhaps it was to present themselves cordially, he was still unsure if their invites were ever genuine but he rarely declined them.

“And that’s it, can’t you at least-“

“I really don’t have anything else to share, not about my home life, that’s for certain. Would you come over here, please?” Harry pleaded, leaning forward as he set down his drink. Draco took a moment to consider before he stood and slid himself in next to Harry, their shoulders touching until Harry brought his arm behind Draco’s neck, pulling him in closely. “I have given you what I can give you, too, to the best of my abilities. I like you a lot, just like you said. I hadn’t imagined I would ever meet somebody I could even want to be with again, not like this, not after Maliki.” Harry gently pried the wine from Draco’s fingers and placed it down beside his own glass. Harry turned on the Chesterfield to face Draco, gripping his shoulders to force him to do the same. As they faced one another, Draco still appeared solemn, and Harry lifted his palm to brush tenderly against the side of his face.

“We all have our secrets, Draco, we all have our circumstances that keep us from being able to do what it is we truly want to do. I don’t question you for your reasons, I let you keep them to yourself. I trust you and I enjoy being with you. I want to see where being together takes us, and I’m sorry if I’m not going as fast as you want us to be, but I just don’t want to muck anything up. I like being where I am and I certainly don’t want it to end,” Harry finished softly. “I like you, more than I want to admit I do. In fact, Draco, I think I may be-“

Draco leaned forward and hastily cut Harry’s words off. Harry was taken aback at first before he responded to the kiss. His hand slipped behind Draco’s head, carding through his hair and gripping it. Harry wanted to show Draco how much he cared, if he wouldn’t let him say the words, it was the very least he could do.

A loud knocking startled them apart. “That bloody well not be my mother,” Draco grumbled as he pulled away from Harry, coming to a stand.

Harry quickly grabbed him by the wrist and stole a chaste kiss, smiling genuinely up at him as he let him go. He leaned back in his sofa, grabbing his drink as he did. The inevitable crash of his relationship, whatever it may be, with Draco was coming closer. But it wouldn’t be tonight. Harry felt another jarring in his stomach, but this one was bad enough he nearly lost his early dinner. Swallowing his sickness, he took a steadying breath just in time to be joined by Draco’s friend.

“James, pleasure to see you again, though after the last time I was certain I wouldn’t be seeing you again,” Blaise Zabini chortled. Harry stiffened at it but turned about and cast him a friendly smile.

“Blaise, how have you been?” Harry rose to briefly shake his hand before he seated himself again.

“Well enough. I’ll be out of your way soon, just came by to pick up…Malfoy has something I need,” Blaise supplied, carefully correcting himself as he took his own seat on in the armchair. “You two been getting on, then?”

Shrugging, Harry bit his blush back. “We are. I just wish things weren’t so complicated,” Harry said truthfully.

Blaise frowned, crossing his leg across his thigh. “With Malfoy they usually are.”

“It’s me more than him,” Harry said quickly. “He’s been wonderful, actually.”

“That’s good, I just…don’t think I am overstepping my boundaries, and try not to tell Malfoy this because he will bloody well have my head for it, but he’s my best mate and always has been since we were kids. I didn’t think he would be getting into anything serious but now that’s it’s been so long…just be careful with him, yeah? I don’t think he would fare too well if – well if something were to happen,” Blaise spoke carefully, picking out his words with considerations.

Harry looked down into his glass, rotating his wrist so that the brown, opaque liquid inside swirled in a whirlpool. “I don’t want anything bad to happen. To him or us,” Harry replied earnestly, though the words were barely audible as he knew that the opposite was bound to happen – that the churning that built in his stomach was a warning that everything he was just beginning to enjoy would soon end. “But why are you so concerned with him? He’s a grown man and like you said, I know he’d have your head for talking about him like this,” Harry grinned half-heartedly.

Blaise leaned forward slightly in his seat now, gazing at Harry seriously. “Growing up, Malfoy had it rough. There were a lot of expectations he couldn’t handle at a young age, a lot of things he couldn’t choose for himself and was forced into doing. If he had a different family, or, if…if things weren’t happening when he was growing up…he would have been so different. He would have been happy. Now that he is allowed to be happy, I think he deserves it.”

Downing his drink and digesting Blaise’s words, Harry couldn’t respond to them. The alternatives that Blaise’s words brought to his mind were confusing, and full of obscured hopes. What _if_ Draco had been brought up with a different family, without Voldemort looming over his home? What would he have been, to Harry, to everyone else, if he had never received the Dark Mark? These questions visited Harry too often these days and each time they did he had to swallow them.

Within Blaise’s words, Harry found himself agreeing with the man. Draco really did deserve the right to be happy. And Harry wanted to give him that, as best and as much as he could before he could no longer be with him. He would offer him everything he could, while it was still within his ability to offer it.

“What have you told him? He looks petrified,” Draco commented lowly from the doorway.

Harry whipped around to look at him. There he was, his sleeves of his buttoned and collared shirt rolled up to his elbows, his fine platinum hair shaping his pointed features, his grey eyes staring at Harry bemusedly, and his thin lips pulled into a smirk. He looked like perfection to Harry, always, and the urge to give him that particular happiness, what he wanted, was becoming overwhelming.

Draco must have seen the glint in Harry’s eyes, or the way he visually rolled over his body slowly, because he was hurrying Blaise along with what he had come for. Harry wasn’t even aware that he had bid the other man goodnight, but suddenly he was being accosted on the Chesterfield, Draco’s body over top of his own. After kissing him feverishly, Draco pulled back, his breathing ragged as he smirked down at Harry. “See something you liked over there?”

‘Loved,’ Harry corrected mentally. “Yeah, I did,” he muttered, pulling Draco down into another kiss.

With steady, sure hands Harry ran up the length of Draco’s body as he turned so that he was pinning him to the sofa. He shamelessly rutted up against him, tasting as much of his mouth as he could as he groaned at the feeling of their pricks rubbing up against one another. Draco was palming his arse, his hands occasionally slipping down between his cheeks and reaching as far under as they could, causing Harry to sharply intake his breath every time.

Breathless and perspiring with arousal, Harry pulled up on his elbows gazing longingly down at the rumpled blond beneath him. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to feel him, all of him. Draco must have caught onto Harry’s urge as he was reaching down, unbuttoning the brunet’s shirt and letting his hands slip inside, running against the taut flesh.

Shivering at the touch of his skin, Harry covered Draco’s body with his own again and brought his lips down to his neck, biting and licking at the tender flesh. As he reached the sensitive patch of skin just behind Draco’s ear, the blond cried out and jerked his hips upwards, his body shaking as Harry drew back slightly and blew hot air where he had just suckled. Continuing his ministrations on Draco’s neck and jaw, Harry worked at his shirt and soon they were both shirtless, their chests pressed tightly together.

It was odd, to feel so aroused in a body that wasn’t his own, but Harry was beginning to get used to the sensation. What was unusual, however, was how _much_ he wanted Draco as well as the unrelated churning in his belly that was forgotten with Harry’s arousal.

Having made several marks down Draco’s body at this point, Harry was crouched like a cat overtop of Draco’s lower half. He extracted his belt from his trousers and slowly popped open the single button. As he pulled them down to the best of his abilities as Draco was still lying on the couch, propped up on his own elbows so he could watch Harry, he wasted no time grasping Draco’s throbbing cock in his hands.

Harry lowered his mouth onto the tip of it, savouring Draco’s taste as his tongue swirled around its purple head, and then his hand and mouth worked in unison as he engulfed as much of his cock as he could. Draco swore and threw his head back, his hand reaching down to card through Harry’s head. As Harry worked his cock, his own twitched with excitement at every moan and groan Draco made, or the way his hips would buck upwards uncontrollably every once and a while. Harry didn’t think he loved anything more than pleasuring Draco – surely there wasn’t anything more arousing.

After a few moments, Harry pulled himself off of Draco’s member and smiled nervously up at his questioning, flushed face. “Draco, I…” Harry’s nerves caught in his throat for a moment and he choked on his words.

Draco reached down, grabbing Harry by his forearms and pulling him on top of himself once more. “I want you, too,” Draco said softly, pulling him into a light kiss before gesturing for Harry to remove himself from the Chesterfield.

Harry awkwardly stood, adjusting his trousers as he did. When Draco stood, he shook out of his slacks entirely and walked, unashamed and completely nude, towards the door of the study. He turned back, smiling what Harry was certain was the most beautiful smile he had ever seen, and extended his hand. Without a second’s hesitation, Harry came forward and took it, allowing himself to be led upstairs and to Draco’s bedroom.

Despite seeing Draco for four months, Harry had never ventured into his bedroom. He had been too concerned with what it would mean, too nervous what the intimate environment would bring, but now he was ecstatic. He didn’t even take the time to look around and Draco seemed pleased with that as he pulled Harry down onto his large bed.

Tugging at his trousers, Draco whispered, “Take them off,” and Harry quickly obeyed his gentle command.

“I want to feel you,” Harry said, coming to lay beside Draco now, his hands never stopping for a moment as they roamed all over his body, savouring each curve.

“You can fuck me,” Draco said easily, reaching down between their bodies and grasping Harry’s cock causing the brunet to gasp.

Harry blushed a crimson red. “No, I, erm…I meant-“

“I know what you meant, but I’ve been waiting for you to fuck me for months, James. _Please_ fuck me and I will return the favour another night,” Draco softly pleaded, his grip on Harry’s cock tightening.

Harry didn’t need to be told thrice so he flipped Draco onto his back and pushed his knees into his thighs, spreading them apart. Draco reached over into his night table, pulling out a bottle of lubrication. He readied himself and then looked up at Harry, bringing his hands to grasp his upper arms.

Taking his time, Harry placed the tip of his cock at Draco’s entrance. The blond shivered but remained unmoving. Harry slowly pushed himself in, bit-by-bit, resisting the urge to thrust fully into him all at once. Draco winced a few times but otherwise relaxed, allowing Harry to enter him with ease. Once he was settled fully within Draco, he peered down wide-eyed at him, his heart racing. All he wanted to do was pause this moment in his life, this perfect moment of Draco looking back up at him and grasping his arms, his mouth open and grey eyes clouded with arousal. If Harry had a pensieve, he would save this memory.

“James, bloody hell!” Draco swore through clenched teeth, rocking his hips downwards into Harry implying his urge for him to begin moving.

Harry complied, starting off slowly at first, steadying himself as he became quickly lost in the feeling of Draco surrounding his cock. He rotated his hips, experimenting with the angle, searching for that – “Fuck, _James_ ,” Draco groaned, and his grip on his arms slipped to his hips and became vicelike, pulling him forward into him.

Maintaining the same angle he had found, Harry began to move faster. Pulling himself nearly all the way out before he buried his cock fully into Draco, Harry didn’t think he could last very long. Definitely not as Draco began panting, moaning underneath his breath, and did something that made Harry nearly tip over the edge. Draco brought his knees up as close to his own body as they could, they pressed between his and Harry’s chests. At the new angle, and the openness of Draco beneath him, Harry thrust into him harder, faster, and soon he was collapsing down on top of Draco, his movements becoming rigid and sporadic. His forehead was pressed into Draco’s and he was opening his mouth to warn him he wasn’t going to last longer but Draco leaned up and captured his lips. They kissed messily, teeth clashing and tongues grazing against each other.

At some point, Harry wasn’t entirely sure when, Draco had reached between their bodies and was stroking his own cock. The blond bit his lover’s lip as he moaned loudly into his mouth, sticky come spilling out between them. Harry wasn’t far behind as he filled Draco, shuddering and moaning as he did. He stayed unmoving for a moment until he was able to peel himself off of Draco and he rolled onto his back, throwing his arm over his forehead. “Fuck, that was brilliant,” Harry said at last.

Draco quickly cleaned himself up before turning over and nuzzling into the side of Harry’s body. Harry dropped his arm around him, sighing contentedly. “It was, but I already knew it would be. How unfortunate that we could have been doing this for four months,” Draco teased, his hand splaying out across Harry’s abdomen.

“Hmm…well, we can make up for it now, can’t we?” Harry drawled.

A stifled yawn shook the other man who was now entwining his legs with Harry’s, his head on his chest, making himself comfortable. “Mhm,” he mumbled agreeably, his eyes fluttering shut.

Harry smiled down at the relaxed, unmasked, and completely open form of Draco Malfoy. He was perfect. He craned his head down to gently kiss the top of his head as Draco’s breathing became low and steady. It wasn’t long before Harry followed him into a peaceful slumber, the uncomfortable, dull pain in his body completely forgotten.

* * *

With a start, Harry woke. He felt that distant pain in his stomach roar and take over his insides. His organs felt as though they were clenching and his heart began to palpitate in his chest. Without a nightmare, without a searing pain in his scar, Harry had never woken so suddenly and in such pain before. He was immediately perspiring, his breathing laboured as it felt like an anvil was being pushed down upon his chest.

Careful not to disturb Draco, Harry slipped out from his arms and his bed. He padded quietly about the room in the middle of the night, catching the time on the alarm clock and swearing. The polyjuice would disappear within the hour. He should have been more careful, he shouldn’t have allowed himself to fall asleep.

Glancing over at the sleeping blond, despite his extreme discomfort which only grew by the minute, Harry found himself grinning. Even though he was nearly caught and experiencing the pain that he was, it had been worth it.

Another wave of the nauseating pain radiated from his stomach up and through his person. Harry clenched his jaw, biting his tongue to keep himself from whimpering aloud. Quickly and quietly he went out into the hall. He had to get away from the house, away from Draco who would recognize the distinct sound of apparation even in his sleep. As soon as he was out on the streets and apparated home, Harry collapsed in his bed. He wandlessly summoned the trash from the bathroom, immediately retching into it.

Hours passed and Harry was in between the trash beside his bed, his bed, and the toilet. He summoned three Pepper-Up potions from the cupboard and finally, as ten in the morning came about, the third dose seemed to be working its way through Harry’s system. Sleep finally came to him but as it did, a message awoke him. He swore to himself, he should have left a note, sent a text, anything to Draco before he left.

‘When did you leave?’

Harry squinted at the glare of his phone screen as he responded. ‘Last night, I had a call from work.’ He sighed at his own lie.

‘I want to see you again today. Will you come to my shop?’

That certainly surprised Harry. ‘In Louth?’

‘If you can take the time away from work, yes. I want to show you where I work.’

Harry swallowed. Draco wasn’t meaning to violate the Statue of Secrecy after last night, was he? After a few minutes, calming his throbbing head and its confused thoughts, he typed out his unsure response. ‘I can try to make it.’

There was voices suddenly emanating from his corridor and Harry groaned, ignoring the trill his phone made with another message from Draco as he tossed it to the side of his bed. Hermione and Ron drew closer until they came to a stop at his doorway. “Mate, you in there?” Ron called a little too loudly for Harry’s liking.

“Yeah, just give me a minute,” he grumbled. Pulling himself out of bed, Harry winced. His body still ached, as if he had recently been hit with a Cruciatus Curse, but it was an indefinite improvement from just a few hours ago. Pulling a new set of clothes on, he quickly freshened himself up with a few quick charms before joining his friends who had now moved to the kitchen. 

Harry must have looked just about as bad as he felt. Or worse, given Hermione and Ron’s reaction to his state. “Bloody hell, mate! What were you up to last night? Get in a fight with a Blast-Ended Skrewt by any chance?” Ron swore, eyeing up his friend.

“Sit, Harry, I’ve made you a cuppa,” Hermione said hastily, offering him a seat which Harry gratefully took as well as the coffee. She gave one to Ron and herself as well before sitting across from him, staring at him concernedly. After an elongated moment, Hermione’s eyes narrowed understandingly. “It’s the polyjuice, isn’t it?”

Harry groaned. He wasn’t much in the mood for a lecture this morning, especially not with the way he was feeling nor after the night he had. “Hermione, just drop it-“

“I most certainly will not drop it! Harry, this is _dangerous_! What happens if the reaction gets more severe? What happens if…Harry, it’s rare but wizards have died from polyjuice poisoning!” Hermione was nearly yelling now, the shrillness of her voice caused Harry to flinch.

Ron was nodding, agreeing with his wife. “It’s not worth it, mate, Malfoy’s not.”

Harry released his mug of coffee and slammed his closed fists down on the table, startling his friends and ignoring the dull pain that vibrated through his muscles at the action. “He bloody well is worth every second of it!” he shouted.

“Do you even see yourself, Harry? You’ve lost the plot because of Malfoy!” Ron countered.

“Yeah, well, we all sort of go a little barmy when we’re in love, don’t we?” he gritted out between his teeth.

At his words Ron blanched and Hermione audibly gasped, recoiling slightly in her seat. “Harry,” she started softly, “You really think you love him?”

“Think? Hermione, I’ve been in love before, and I feel that if I’m given the chance I can love Draco more than I ever loved Maliki,” he admitted more calmly. “I don’t know when it happened or how, but yes, I’m in love with Draco Malfoy,” Harry stated fully for the first time. “Everything’s all muddled up now, though, and I’ve gone so far that there’s no way to fix all of this,” he gestured around himself hopelessly.

“You shouldn’t have done it in the first place, mate. If you fancied Malfoy, you could have just approached him like Harry, not James,” Ron suggested.

“Even if I had the foresight that I’d fall in love with him, which I didn’t, I had no idea all of this would go this far. I feel bloody miserable now but it’ll be nothing compared to when I know I’ll have to give up the polyjuice. I need this, I need him, for as long as I can have it all,” Harry blushed, feeling striped bared with his confession.

Hermione and Ron were exchanging glances before the redhead slowly rose from the table. “Mum can’t actually watch the kids today, she just popped over for breakfast, I have to go watch Hugo and Rose,” he explained, taking one more sip of his cuppa.

“You’re not leaving because I-“

“No,” Ron quickly cut him off, trying to appear reassuring. “I don’t care who you love, Harry, even if it’s bloody Malfoy so long as he doesn’t do what that bastard did to you. But you’ve made about as much mess of it as a dragon would, mate,” he said half-heartedly before starting off towards the Floo.

“Don’t you need to go, too, then?” Harry gestured at Hermione.

The witch shook her head, smiling sadly at her friend. “Ron is fine with the kids for now. Harry, what are you planning to do?”

Harry shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “Take the polyjuice as long as I can before I become truly incapable of taking anymore. When that happens, well, I guess I will have to break it off with Draco.”

“Are you not even considering telling him the truth?”

“What difference will that make? I’ve been lying to him for the past four months. What will he say when he finds out he’s be fucking a different man – somebody he used to despise – all this time? He’s going to bloody hate me more than he already does,” Harry groaned. He wanted to crawl back into his bed and under the covers.

“I don’t condone the polyjuice, you know that Harry, but if you insist on continuing to use it I think you should talk to Professor Slughorn about any counter potions you can take when you experience ill symptoms,” Hermione suggested.

Harry shook his head, sighing. “Slughorn rarely handles polyjuice as it is and what I’m taking is Draco’s own concoction, he won’t have any idea what to make of it.”

Hermione frowned. “Why not speak with Draco then? Harry, I just want you to be safe.”

“He asked me to go to his shop today, in Louth. Since I’ll have to drive there anyway, considering it’s the only way _James_ would be able to make it, I guess I could see him as Harry, first,” he considered. Then, recalling a certain book by Kivari he was nearly finished, Harry’s spirits suddenly lifted. “Yes! That’s actually a brilliant idea, ‘Mione! Thank you!” Harry grinned across the table.

Startled by his mood change, Hermione smiled waveringly. “Of course, Harry, just be careful, would you?”

Harry was nodding absently as he stood from the table. “I’ll have to get the car from the underground lot, I haven’t driven in ages. There’s never a need for cars, is there? Either way, do you think you have a minute to stick about?”

Hermione bit her lower lip but slowly nodded. “Certainly, what do you need?”

“I need help picking out something for _Harry_ to wear,” he emphasized.

Harry brought his cuppa and Hermione to his wardrobe, now eager to begin his day. Even though he could never have nor be with Draco as himself that didn’t mean that Harry couldn’t try to make him notice him as Harry instead of Potter.  


	4. Chapter Four

_‘Cause I’m a conductor, a simple conductor. The electricity just pouring through me._

_‘Like maintaining a corporeal patronus, or while holding a glamour, you cannot waver when you are moving forward while peering backwards. The authenticity of your past, your present, and your future in its entirety – without discontinuity, without viewing it disjointedly – is an essential component to building relationships as you continue on your projected journey. If the happy thought wavers, your patronus will dissipate. If you lose your concentration, your glamour will falter. If you forget where you have been, what you have done, where you are going…you will never truly know who you are; you will be unable to develop strong, meaningful relationships.’_

The radio hummed lowly, barely audible, as Harry manically tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. Passages from the Kivari books Harry had recently read kept resurfacing every few minutes. He pondered on each of them, lingering on the meaning of the words. More importantly, he was most curious about what those words meant to Draco.

It was clear to Harry, through his interactions with him as James as well as Harry, and through the books, that Draco did not want to forget his past. He understood that he had made mistakes, however, these mistakes made him who he was. Harry wondered if he regretted everything he had done as a child, as a young man during the war. Or did he use these books as a way to accept what he had done and to live without those regrets?

Harry wanted nothing more than to know; was there any way he could get close enough to Draco, as Harry Potter and not James, to find the answers to the questions? He doubted it – but he at least needed to try.

When he finally arrived in Louth, he was more excited than nervous. He had seen Draco so often over the past few months as Harry that he no longer faltered in his presence, for the most part. Harry parked his car a few blocks away in a lot, changing into his robes in the back seat. He smoothed his hand over his hair, unsuccessfully attempting to tame it, and started off towards Artephius.

The same girl was there, she appeared to be stocking the shelves near the doorway of the shop. “Good morning, sir – Oh, Mr. Potter?” she questioned timidly.

Harry smiled softly, nodding. “Hullo again…sorry, I never did catch your name the first time.”

The small girl blushed and turned back to the shelf as she mumbled, “Lola. Can I help you with something?”

“I’m here to see Dr-Mr. Malfoy, again,” Harry corrected himself.

Lola turned about from the shelf once the product, which appeared to be amortentia, was all evenly lined upon it and started towards the stairs. She opened the door but did not dare take a step down as she called out to the shop owner. “Mr. Potter here to see you again, Mr. Malfoy!” She stood still for a moment before holding the door open, gesturing for Harry with a slight cock of her head.

“Thanks, Lola. It was nice to see you again,” Harry smiled at her as he slipped down the stairs. The girl blushed and quickly turned away, back to her work.

This time, Draco wasn’t working at one of the many tables or cauldrons, but instead was sitting at his work desk which appeared much more organised than the last time Harry had come unannounced. “Potter,” Draco greeted shortly, leaning back in his chair as he gestured at the seat opposite of him.

“Expecting me?” Harry inquired, as he could recall last time there hadn’t been a second chair there.

Draco shrugged, “I’m always expecting somebody to interrupt my day,” he returned, picking up his quill from his desk and running his fingers along its feathers. He was dressed in Muggle clothing that day; a polo and a simple pair of black slacks. “What is it you need, Potter? The polyjuice still not strong enough for you?”

“Erm, I think it’s quite alright. I mean, the strength of it.”

Raising his eyebrow, Draco only paused for a moment in his ministrations with the feathers of his quill. “I assume that means that something else is wrong with it?”

Harry reached his hand behind his head, feeling stiff in his seat, as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Sort of…I think I’m having reactions to it.”

The demeanor of Draco changed immediately, he sat up straighter, his eyes widened and he quit playing with his quill. Instead, he dipped the tip of it into his ink and ruffled the contents on top of his desk until he drew a clean scrap of parchment. “What sort of reactions? Tell me everything you can about them, how often and for how long,” he said with urgency.

Harry found himself grinning. Draco was intrigued by the reaction; as any scientist was with an experiment. “About a week ago I began to feel sick, nauseous like, near the end of the transformation. With each dose, I got sick sooner and sooner. Now, erm, well I feel sick immediately. It doesn’t go away until a few hours after the polyjuice wears off, and I usually take a Pepper-Up or two to help,” he explained.

Draco had been writing but abruptly stopped, slowly looking up from his scrawl to Harry’s face. “Potter,” he began seriously, “You should have seen me sooner.”

Shrugging, Harry looked down at his hands. He couldn’t look at Draco in such close proximity, especially not with him radiating actual concern for Harry. “It didn’t seem like a big problem, just a mild allergic reaction, y’know?”

“And now?” Draco queried tersely. “Knowing you, you would have kept using it till it nearly killed you. Have you, Potter? I told you, you must only consume this polyjuice when necessary and utilise the less potent concoction when you can. Preferably, don’t use it whatsoever. So tell me, honestly, how much did it hurt last time? Was it just nausea? Be honest, Potter.”

“Uh, let’s just say I’d rather try my chances with a Horntail again than have to take another shot of polyjuice. It felt like my whole body was rejecting it, like everything was on fire and aching all at once. It bloody burned,” Harry admitted truthfully, absolutely refusing to look up at Draco whom he was certain was glaring angrily at him now.

With clenched fists on top of his desk, Draco leaned forward, his voice hissing. “How long before you acquired my new polyjuice were you using that botched up, magnified mixture Weasley sells?”

The colour from Harry’s face drained. George had been supplying him polyjuice for a long time, now, and it was already a strengthened version of the original concoction. You only had to take one sip every three hours. Draco’s would last eight-to-ten hours without a single added dose. “About two years,” he mumbled.

There was a sharp intake of breath and Draco’s voice dropped dangerously low. “Say that again, Potter,” he spat.

“About two years,” Harry replied a little louder, looking up at last to find Draco leaning so far over his desk now Harry would only have to reach forward a few more inches to kiss him. He was glaring dangerously at him, however, his eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched.

A silence enveloped them before Draco slammed his fists onto his desk and stood up. He began to pace as his voice rose with each word he spat. “Out of all the bloody imbecilic ways the bloody Chosen One could die, it’s going to be by polyuice poisoning. _My_ polyjuice is going to kill the fucking Boy Who Lived! Two years, Potter? Two years?! Are you fucking stupid? You know what, don’t answer that, of course you are. Bloody fucking shit for brains you are. Aren’t you still friends with Granger? Somebody with her brains should know the fucking danger and irreparable damages that much polyjuice can to do you! I swear if you fucking die because of m-“

“Draco!” Harry bellowed, standing up now. He, like Draco, was red in the face. Draco abruptly stopped and his head snapped towards Harry, his eyes wide in surprise at the use of his given name. Deciding to forget his slip, Harry calmly continued. “I’ve needed to use it. Sometimes, over the past few years, I’ve used regular polyjuice. And I still have it in case I need it, and I’ve run low on yours so I’ll need more-“

“No. There’s a better chance of you going against that Horntail you so want to meet again than me brewing another vial of polyjuice for you. I have a half mind to owl Weasley to stop selling them to you, too.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Harry muttered, rolling his eyes. “So what, I’m having a reaction. What if I just wait a few days in between each dose?”

“You already aren’t? You’re unbelievable, Potter,” Draco sighed, falling back into his chair in a huff. “I advise you to discontinue any further use of polyjuice.”

“That’s not fair, I need it, it’s important…I…” Harry’s voice fell, he couldn’t strain the importance of the polyjuice. He couldn’t confess to Draco just why it was so important to him. “I just need it,” he whispered, his face falling. “And I only have three doses left. That’s not enough, I need-“

“What you need is to live, Potter,” Draco interjected, certainly more calm than he was before but his voice still had a sharp edge to it.

Harry flushed, his head hanging even further now. “Is it really that dangerous? I just felt ill, is all.”

“Polyjuice is very hard on a person’s anatomy. It is unwise to even stay transformed for more than a few hours let alone…how often do you do it?”

“Erm, every other day for eight hours or so,” he admitted.

“Bollocks,” Draco swore. “You’re lucky you aren’t already dead, Potter, so count your blessings and quit before the wrackspurts devour you.”

Surprised at the term, Harry looked up, blinking with a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Wrackspurts?” he questioned.

Draco, having noticed what he said, flushed but didn’t say anything. It was apparent Draco still spoke with Luna, which didn’t quite surprise Harry, but perhaps Malfoy didn’t like having that particularity of himself well known. “I refuse to give you anymore, Potter. And I would not try retrieving it from any other apothecary, either, as I will be placing your name on the abusers list.”

“What? You can’t do that, Draco!”

Draco smirked at that, clearly amused at his reaction. “You are exhibiting every manner and behaviour of an individual who abuses a potion. You are desperate for more, you will do whatever you can to get more, you are ignoring the fact that your very life is dependent on not having a single drop of polyjuice. You are lucky I haven’t called for a mediwitch,” he drawled.

Harry sputtered and proceeded to take a moment to collect himself. That would mean he couldn’t get polyjuice anywhere. From anyone. That would mean he could have three more long transformations as James and only two more regular polyjuices, not even the ones from George’s shop. That wasn’t enough time. Harry needed more. He needed to be with Draco longer, he wasn’t prepared to give him up. Not yet. Not so soon. Not when he was beginning to…

Harry wanted to plead with him, to beg him and offer him anything he wanted for more, but as he looked up at Draco’s face he knew he wouldn’t budge. He knew since he had begun his farce of a relationship with Draco that it would have to end, he had just hoped it wouldn’t have been so soon. “Can I…do you have something I could at least use while I take the last of the polyjuice? To lessen the effects?”

Pursing his lips, Draco seemed to consider it for a moment. “I can only assume that you will be taking the polyjuice either way, am I right?” As Harry nodded Draco sighed and stood up. “Stay here, I will be back down in a moment,” he instructed.

As Harry waited, he urged himself not to think about what being without polyjuice would mean. It did not merely upset him – it terrified him. He would never be allowed to see Draco the way he had when he was James. As carefree, confident, beautiful…he would never be able to hold him close, or go to The Well, or kiss him.

When Draco returned he was carrying five vials with him. He gave them to Harry’s open and waiting hand, frowning as he did. “Take a half dose before and another half after each administration. It’s a calming draught and it should help ease the effects without neutralising any component of the potion,” Draco explained.

“Great, thank you,” Harry said earnestly, his voice broken. Draco was looking at him oddly now, looking as though he was hovering between a question he wished to ask and whether or not it was appropriate to ask it. “Er, thank you for the book, too. Kivari? He’s not somebody I would have assumed you have read. But you like all of that, don’t you?”

Seemingly relieved at the change of conversation, Draco’s features softened considerably. “I do. The man is the best in his category, in my opinion. What is it you liked best about his latest work?”

“He really put a lot of things in perspective for me. I never stopped to think about anything more than what was at face value before and he made me pause to do just that; to look at what was beneath all of that. And,” Harry looked down at his hands, he was wringing them together, twiddling his fingers and thumbs nervously now. Slowly he rose his head, his eyes connecting boldly with Draco’s but his features timid. “The entire book reminded me of you still, Draco, just like the last.”

Draco raised both his eyebrows in surprise, a pink tinge creeping up his neck. “It wasn’t supposed to. Kivari, especially the latter, is a piece intended for self-reflection, not for interpreting others. I…don’t quite know what to say to that,” he admitted.

Harry blushed and shrugged. “Nothing, I s’pose, maybe it was just correlation to the person who gave me the book, s’all,” he suggested.

“Perhaps,” Draco said, his voice barely audible as his grey eyes searched Harry’s face for something and being unable to find it.

“Artephius. What does that mean?” Harry asked, startling Draco with the randomness of the inquiry.

“He was an ancient alchemist, a wizard without ever knowing the fact, and he was one of the best there was,” Draco explained, confused at off-handed question. Slowly he spoke again. “I do have company which is due soon. I am going to write an owl the second you step out of these doors to put you on that list, Potter.”

“Yes, fine,” Harry said, nodding quickly and standing up. “What do I owe you for the calming droughts?” he asked.

Draco shook his head, leading Harry towards and up the stairs. “Just keep yourself alive, Potter.”

Harry laughed darkly. “That doesn’t sound too difficult.”

“I believe being the Chosen One may make the task a little more difficult,” Draco teased, his tone a little more light-hearted as they reached the landing on the shop. “If you need anything else, you know where to find me.”

“Of course. Thanks again, Draco, for everything,” Harry said, reaching out his hand. He hadn’t realised until then that he was shaking. There was no other reason for him to return after this trip. It would be his last time seeing Draco as Harry Potter – well, unless he ran into him which over the years seldom occurred.

Draco eyed the hand for a moment, his face a mixture of emotions before grasping it. “You have been calling me by my name all day,” he stated, and Harry was about to apologise before Draco quickly cut him off. “You should keep doing it.” Blushing, Harry went to release his hand but before he could turn away, Draco yanked on the hand and pulled Harry in towards him. “That polyjuice, whatever you need it for, is it really that important to you?” Draco inquired curiously.

Harry looked at him levelly, his emerald eyes staring openly into Draco’s eyes. “Yes. So important I would not hesitate to risk my life for it again,” he said, surprising himself at how truthful those words actually were.

Letting his hand drop, Draco merely nodded and turned towards the basement of the shop once more. Lola was standing in the distance, watching their interaction with curiosity. Harry bid her goodbye and hurried out onto the streets of Louth and towards his car. Once inside, he collapsed in the backseat, shrugging off his robes and into his Muggle clothes for James. ‘Is Draco so important to me now that I would really risk my life for him? Haven’t I been already?’ Harry shut his confused thoughts up. He was already late, as James, for his meeting with Draco back at the very same shop.

Taking a half dose of the calming drought first, Harry then took one of his last strong polyjuices. Once the transformation took effect, he hopped out of the car once more and made sure to bury his robes in the trunk and disillusion them. Starting off down the street again, Harry took a deep breath and entered into the shop once more but as a Muggle who had never seen it before in his life.

Immediately at seeing his dress, Lola stiffened. She was still stocking shelves, this time in the far corner. She hurriedly greeted Harry, asking if there were anything he needed help finding. Harry pretended to be intrigued and equally befuddled by the shelves around him; all the varying vials or liquids, or sizes, all locked up in their place, some small crystal orbs, a few pensieves, and drawers upon drawers of ingredients. Mostly common ones like wormwood, eye of newt, and asphodel. “Sir, I asked if you needed help finding anything. Are you Pagan?” Lola questioned, her voice slightly shaken, she was probably not used to handling what appeared to be Muggle customers.

“No, thank you, I’m here to see Draco,” Harry responded, smiling widely at her as he added, “He’s my boyfriend.”

Lola blushed a deep red before she hurriedly nodded and went off towards the door. Harry started around the store, ensuring his face was set with interest at everything he ran his eyes across. He was trailing his fingers across a particular shelf of what Harry thought was Dreamless Sleep – but could never be sure given his ineptitude with potions – when Draco came up behind him, both of his hands gripping his shoulders as he did. He leaned forward, the side of his face brushing up against Harry’s cheek.

“James, I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show,” he drawled, his lips ghosting his skin.

Harry turned around in Draco’s grip and placed his hands around his back, smiling up at him. “I got lost,” he lied, straining his neck upwards to kiss him chastely.

“Come, let me show you around and then we can grab some lunch.”

Harry allowed Draco to lead him about the store, his arm always around his waist as Lola kept cautiously looking their way. When they were finished the small, quick tour where Draco was honest about most of the shop’s ingredients, he finally led them onto the street. “What do you think?” Draco queried as they walked, their steps in sync.

“Interesting,” Harry commented, grinning up at him. “Certainly not a business I would assume makes a lot of money.”

“You would be surprised how much people pay for their beliefs.”

“And do you believe in it? You haven’t come off as particularly New Agey to me.”

Draco was running his hand up and down Harry’s side, pressing closer into him. “I believe that people deserve to have the freedom to believe what they wish; so long as those beliefs don’t impede another’s well-being. I used to have a belief, one many opposed, and I still do. The difference between then and now is that I understand that beliefs, or opinions, they shouldn’t dictate other’s lives. They should stay within ourselves, and influences ourselves, but we should not force that onto others.”

A smile was tugging at the corner of Harry’s lips. Draco was admitting he still held his belief, the one his father drilled into his head, that same sense of pureblood altruism, but he had matured enough to not impose the safety of others because of his belief. If Harry had any more doubts about Draco, they were quickly dissipating the more time he spent with him – as a Muggle or not. “What belief is that?” he cautiously asked.

“That some people are better than others,” he answered easily, stopping before a particular restaurant. It seemed quaint, a small bistro, which was nearly empty during the mid-afternoon.

“And? Do you still believe that?”

Draco flashed a smirk down at Harry and shrugged as he opened the door, holding it for him. “Is it not true?” he returned.

Harry frowned, considering the question and stepping into the bistro. Once seated, their drinks and meals ordered, Draco was sitting in the chair, his foot underneath the table continuously brushing against Harry’s lower leg. Harry savoured the simple, intimate touch. He wouldn’t be privileged enough to feel even the simplest touches from Draco much longer. They talked about the small stuff at first, Harry’s drive in particular, or how busy the shop had been, which is when Draco leaned back in his chair, his face growing perplexed.

“I had an old classmate visit the shop today,” he began, causing Harry to intake a sharp breath. “We never got along, suffice to say we disliked one another thoroughly.” Reaching across the table, Harry grasped Draco’s hand, entwining their fingers awkwardly on the table top, inclining his head intently. “I believe mutual understanding and…being business partners of sorts has amended much of the dislike. It was strange. He…I am concerned for his well-being and I am not sure if I am overstepping my boundaries of being his acquaintance by voicing them,” Draco said unsurely, careful of his words as he gripped Harry’s hand a little tighter.

“What makes you so concerned?”

Draco sighed, “He just is not acting the way I would have expected.”

“If you two don’t get on, how do you know that’s just not him?” Harry returned, playing the devil’s advocate.

Draco’s eyes flashed at Harry momentarily before he calmed himself. “I know him well enough,” he returned, his jaw clenched.

Harry let the subject drop and they returned to talking about Louth and Draco’s business. Lunch, the afternoon, and even the evening passed with ease. Draco had lied, saying he caught a ride with Lola to work where Harry knew he must have apparated or taken the Floo, and drove all the way home with Harry. It was fun. Actually, it was amazing. Harry never enjoyed driving a long distance as much as he did with Draco at his side.

They played various radio stations, Draco commented on every song and surprisingly knowing plenty more than Harry did. They enjoyed the passing scenery behind them and the calmness that was brought with the road. With James, Draco was so unguarded. Harry was always mystified by it.

Once back in London at Draco’s home, they were exhausting and dropping down onto the living room couch with a bottle of red – much to Harry’s distaste, it appeared Draco had run dry of anything else in the house. “This upcoming weekend my friends will be over, Friday evening, you should join us,” Draco suggested.

“Do they even like me?” Harry groaned.

Draco laughed, placing his wine glass down and reaching for the television remote, lying down on the couch as he did, his head in Harry’s lap. “They just need to get used to you,” he assured him, flicking on the television.

‘Yeah, but I don’t want to spend my second last night with you with a bunch of bloody Slytherins,’ Harry cursed. “I’d much rather just spend my evening with you,” Harry admitted, smiling down at him.

The way Draco smiled up at him, unguarded, and his grey eyes lit up, Harry was taken aback. It had been clear to his subconscious for quite a while but now, in that moment, it was impossible for his conscious mind to deny…Harry had fallen in love with Draco. He cursed – when did he allow that to happen?

Sensing something had gone awry, Draco quickly sat up, the palm of his hand running down the side of Harry’s face and landing gently on his shoulder. “Are you alright, James?”

“I love you,” Harry blurted out. He immediately blushed at his words, turning his head down. He hadn’t meant to say that, he didn’t want to, that would only make the inevitable more difficult. He was horrified to look up at Draco, but the blond had placed his hand underneath his chin and was forcing him to meet his eyes.

Elation, and adoration, was all Harry saw and it made him completely forget everything once again. Draco didn’t respond, instead he leaned forward and captured Harry’s lips in a fierce kiss. So Harry tried not to let the future, especially next weekend being the last he could be James with Draco, be the priority of his thoughts. Instead, he carded his hand through Draco’s fine hair and kissed him even deeper.

* * *

“Hermione, you don’t understand, he’s _gone!_ ”

“Good riddance, Harry! You shouldn’t take one more dose of polyjuice!” she shrieked through the other end of the fire.

Harry paced in his study, ruffling his hands through his hair. “You don’t bloody understand, I’m not ready to do this! I can’t do this! I thought I would still have tonight, I thought that bloody man at the coffee shop was still there and I could get more hairs for him! What the fuck am I going to do now?”

Another voice called from the other side of the firecall despite Hermione’s face remaining visible in the flames. “What you should have done from the start, mate. Tell Malfoy the truth,” Ron grumbled.

“I-I have enough for one more dose. One dose! That’s it! And even then only a regular polyjuice – an hour! Bloody hell, I can’t do this,” Harry deflated onto his armchair, holding his head in his shaking hands.

The evening before he had spent it with Draco’s friends at his home, drinking, playing card games, listening to music and Draco’s favourite band especially – The Careless Lovers – and they even danced together, something Harry never did. They ended the evening perfectly. Draco made love to Harry, which felt odd when he wasn’t in his own skin, but it was still the most amazing thing he had ever experienced. He couldn’t let go, not now, not ever. But what was he supposed to do?

“Calm down, Harry. You have to. I know this is not what you want, but you must,” Hermione said calmly from the other end. Hugo’s shrill cry interrupted them and she wished him luck before ending the firecall.

Feeling absolutely defeated, yet understanding of the circumstances, Harry reached into his pocket and withdrew his phone. He was shaking like a leaf. He could feel his heart pounding against his chest. He wasn’t sure he could speak like James anymore, he was certain his voice would crack and he would sound too much like himself. He resorted by texting Draco. Simply, all he said was, ‘I can’t come by tonight, something happened at work. I’ll message you when I’m free again,’ he lied.

“I’m a fucking coward,” he swore.

* * *

_One week later._

“Mr. Potter, sir?” there was a knock on the door, the soft voice of one of the other aurors drawing Harry from his attention at his desk. He was consumed with looking over the test results of the latest auror exam.

Harry was tired. No, tired was not quite the word for it. He was past exhaustion. Past weariness. Past and depression. He felt numb and there was always this haze in his head. Draco had responded to his text and sent at least two dozen more since then. Harry had to abandon his phone altogether, to rid himself of the temptation, he eventually just handed it over to Hermione. He never sent Draco a single other message.

It had been a horrible thing for him to do, he understood this, but he couldn’t handle anything more. He couldn’t say goodbye to Draco, he certainly didn’t have the courage to tell him the truth – the truth would merely make the man hate him even more than he would this way. “Yes?” Harry finally asked, dragging his eyes up from his paper work.

His muscles all contracted at once, his eyes widened, his breathing stilled. He wasn’t prepared for this.

Draco was standing in his doorway and he looked just as good as he always did but with dark circles under his eyes. Harry wondered if that was his fault and he immediately felt the guilt building inside of himself. “Malfoy? Paying me a social visit?” Harry questioned, leaning back in his chair as he offered a seat, wandlessly closing the door behind Draco.

“Back a last name basis? Unfortunate,” Draco commented, a hint of amusement to his voice. “Wandless magic, Potter, I’m impressed.”

Harry sighed, leaning his head on his hand. “I’m not in the mood today, Malfoy. What do you want?”

“Can I assume you have given up your habit?”

“Malfoy,” Harry repeated, his tone clipped.

Draco raised his hands defensively. “Fine, I have a favour to ask. Given the favours I have given you over the past few months, I hoped you could do me one as well.”

“Depends on what it is regarding,” Harry said slowly, gaining interest the more Draco spoke. ‘He can’t possibly hope to…no…he wouldn’t risk a sentence for who he thinks is James,’ he thought incredulously.

“Is it possible to break the Statue of Secrecy without breaking the law? Is the Ministry notified upon the law being broken? Can you explain to me how it works?” Draco questioned more urgently with each question.

Harry’s mouth dropped open, and he quickly shut it, masking his surprise. “You have a Muggle _friend_?” he asked.

Draco smirked. “That would be what you would focus on. Yes, Potter, I have a Muggle boyfriend,” he corrected, then his face fell slightly. “Or I did. I believe he may have known something was wrong. Everything was splendid and then he was gone.”

“Maybe he was just gone because he didn’t want to be with you anymore?” Harry returned.

Draco looked at him, momentarily stricken before shaking his head. “No. What we had…he…it does not concern you, Potter. Are you not in the least surprised that I’m gay?” he inquired.

“Should I be?”

At that, Draco genuinely laughed. “So, what can you tell me?”

“Couldn’t you have owled me for this?” Harry groaned. He really didn’t want to be stuck in his office with Draco for longer than he had to be.

“That would be too dangerous. Who knows who could get their hands on your mail, especially if it came here, and knowing how the general public feels about me, well, if they knew I was considering breaking the Statue of Secrecy it would not go over well,” Draco explained, which Harry found himself agreeing with his logic.

“Unless you are underage, there is no trace on wizards or witches breaking the Statue of Secrecy. As long as there are no witnesses, you should be fine. However, you have just told the Head Auror that you are interested in breaking the law and do remember that when Muggles discover who we are, it tends to come as a shock,” Harry warned.

Draco shrugged. “I have a feeling you won’t report this discussion as concerning. Thank you, Potter, that is all I needed to know,” he reached out his hand which Harry took before he turned around to leave.

Harry called out after him. “Some people aren’t worth breaking the law for, Malfoy,” he warned.

Harry heard Draco’s brief response as the blond stepped outside of his office door, he nearly choked on his pulse as the words reached him.

“This one is.”

That weekend, Harry felt like shite after having been out with Ron, Nevilleand Rolf all the night before. One firewhisky at the Hog’s Head had turned into an uncountable amount.  Saturday morning found Harry downing a hangover drought and having as many cuppas as necessary to keep him standing. He was due at Ron’s that evening for the children, he promised he would watch all his godchildren so their parents could go out for the evening (and so Andromeda could have a night off).

Then a knock came to his door. Harry groaned at the sound of it. “Who is it?” he called begrudgingly from his Chesterfield.

“James, you bloody well better open up, I know you’re in there! It’s Draco!”


	5. Chapter Five

_You are a habit, another bad habit. Keep biting my nails in case, all else fails for us._

Never in the nine years Harry had worked at the Ministry had he used magic as quickly and in as great of a quantity as he did now. With his wand outstretched he concealed as many photographs as he could find; he hurriedly transfigured his stack of Daily Prophets on the kitchen table into the local London chronicle, and any little piece of evidence of who he really was he made sure to cover up. Draco’s incessant rapping at his door increased, his voice calling out to him growing angrier by the word. “Just let me in to have a word! I deserve at least a fucking word!”

Harry caught his breath, shoving the nauseating side effects of the one hour polyjuice down seeing as he had not had the time to drink a calming drought before-hand and giving himself a once over in his reflective television. Satisfied with his false appearance, he pocketed his infamous glasses before finally opening his door. Draco appeared absolutely disheveled; his hair was falling almost haphazardly about his pointed face, his breathing was heavy, his cheeks slightly red from yelling. “What the bloody hell were you doing in here, helping someone out the window?” he snapped accusingly, gesturing towards the ajar window visible from the entrance in the living room.

Raising an eyebrow, trying to appear as aloof as ever, Harry sighed. “Yes, I was helping my lover down from the fourth story window. Are you mad?”

Pursing his lips, Draco stepped inside. His grey eyes narrowed as he quickly observed his surroundings having never been there before. “Satisfied?” Harry clipped. He understood what he had done to Draco was unacceptable and he deserved far worse than what he was getting, however, he hoped he presented himself with at least better character to have Draco know he wouldn’t be sleeping around with somebody else – not this soon.

“No,” Draco returned, rounding on Harry now with his arms crossed. “What the fuck took you so long?”

“The flat was a disaster,” he responded nonchalantly, with half-truth, too.

Unconvinced, Draco let the subject go and instead made himself welcome to Harry’s kitchen where he sat at the table (Harry’s nerves peaked as Draco glanced at the stack of chronicles and Harry prayed his transfiguration was decent enough). “Tea?” Harry offered, attempting to cut the aggressive tension that was appearing between them. “I have not anything in the way of edible’s but-“

“Tea is fine,” came the short reply.

After brewing a pot in the most unnerving of silences (broken by Draco tapping his manicured fingernails on Harry’s scratched table), Harry sat down opposite him and exhaled heavily. “Listen, I was planning on coming over tomorrow and explaining everything, and, well, I thought you got the picture by now,” Harry began softly, praying the small crack in his voice went undetected and unanalyzed. ‘Gods, I don’t want to do this,’ he bemoaned to himself, ‘But it’s the only thing I can do.’

“The picture? What picture? Oh, you mean the picture where you tell me that you love me and then suddenly you don’t want to be with me any longer? Bullshit you don’t,” Draco snarled into his cuppa.

Harry bit his lower lip, this was going to be harder than he thought if Draco could already tell how much he was regretting this. “Er, well you see…Maliki wants to get back-“

“Bollocks!” Draco slammed the mug down on the table, nearly breaking it. His grey eyes were piercing Harry fiercely now. “I was at Heaven last night and Maliki seemed rather content with his new boytoy.”

‘Damn,’ Harry inwardly swore; Draco really had his bases covered. This time when he spoke again, his voice was indefinitely giving him away. “What were you doing at Heaven?”

“Getting your address from Maliki. Obviously,” he snipped, as if it were that clear.

“You…you _talked_ to him? But….what did you say…how did…?” Harry was absolutely baffled. Did Draco know? Is that what was happening here and now?

“I asked for the address of his ex. He was rather reluctant at first, especially given he had _no idea who I was talking about_ but, after some convincing, he seemed to know exactly where you lived.”

“Some convincing? Christ, Draco, you didn’t hurt him, did you?” Harry groaned, he couldn’t stand the thought of somebody getting hurt, especially Maliki, just from his association to Harry.

Draco quickly shook his head, raising a hand defensively. “I used perfectly safe methods of…it doesn’t bloody well matter how I did it but that is how I did it. Either way, I know Maliki and you are not getting back together considering he does not even know anybody named James.”

Harry flushed, his mouth went dry, and all he could do was tentatively sip his tea. Everything was falling apart, everything was spiralling down away from him and out of control. ‘Veritaserum,’ he told himself, ‘That must be how he got Maliki to tell him my address. That or Legilimency.’ “Did you two talk about anything else?”

 “Other than the fact it was odd he had no idea who you were by name yet still had your correct address; no. Tell me, James, how can that be? Why the fuck are you lying to me about who you are? Are you in some sort of trouble?” Draco’s voice, though tense with anger, betrayal, and confusion had a hint of concern dashed in with the last question. Even after the way Harry was treating him as of late, he still cared for him, and that nearly broke Harry’s heart.

“No, it’s not like that, it’s just…” he paused, carefully picking his words, “…I don’t like who I was and I’m certain you wouldn’t either. I was trying to start over with you.”

Draco’s eyes softened immediately as his grip on his cuppa tightened. “You still could have told me the truth, and even if that were the case, what about now? Why are you-“ and he stopped himself, swallowing the last word, ‘leaving’, as if fearful of the connotation of it.

After several moments of silence, Harry finally said the lie he only wanted to use as a last resort. “It’s you, Draco. I feel as though despite me giving you a false name, _you_ are lying to me. You keep me out of your past and I understood at first, but it got to be too much! I can’t be with somebody I don’t know,” Harry elucidated, each of his words laced with lies hitting him hard.  

With widened eyes Draco’s anger melted away and he began to frown. “I was prepared for this,” he whispered, gesturing loosely between them. “I thought I would hear you say that coming here today. James, you are absolutely correct, I have been keeping quite a lot from you. I have also lied to you, more than I have ever lied in my entire life, and that is saying a lot,” he admitted, defeated.

Harry sucked in a sharp breath. ‘He’s not…no…he can’t tell me. Certainly, he can’t! I warned him at the Ministry not to!’ he thought wildly but could not find the strength to stop him, he was desperate to see how far Draco would go. Was Harry, poised as James, so important to Draco he would risk breaking wizarding law?

“It is time I be truthful to you, James, if that means keeping you with me,” Draco became very suddenly serious as he threw back the last of his tea. “What I am about to say will sound mad, I know, but I can prove every single word you are about to hear. Please do not interrupt me because I am going to start from the beginning and tell you _everything_. It might take a while, but it is absolutely essential. James, I am a Wizard.”

Despite his lack of reaction, Draco seemed unfazed as he dove into one of the longest monologues he had ever heard Draco lead – which was saying something. Harry listened, unmoving, unflinching, at every word as his head reeled. Draco took him through his childhood, indulging in details Harry had never known about him before even from their days at Hogwarts. Things about his mother teaching him transfiguration at seven or his father berating him for falling off his broom at nine. Harry, despite his position, enjoyed listening to Draco’s tell-all story. There were insights into him he had never known and knowing them only made him love Draco more; and it only made him feel worse for what he had done and the situation that now befell upon them both.

At last, nearly an hour later, Draco was finished and absolutely out of breath as they had moved from tea and onto coffee cuppas. “There you have it. If you have absolutely any questions, I will answer them, truthfully and honestly,” Draco concluded, appearing exhausted yet relieved. He searched Harry’s face for his reaction but Harry held himself together the best he could. “You think I am raving, don’t you? I swear on the Queen herself I am a wizard, James.”

“I know,” Harry responded at last.

Draco blinked a few times, befuddled. “You know? How can you know? I just told you magic existed, I just broke one of the most important laws our kind have to tell you who I really am and you think you know? I am not mad!” he said defensively.

Taking a shaking sip from his cuppa, Harry stood after he placed it back down on the table. “I know,” he repeated softly and motioned for Draco to stay sitting when he went off to his cluttered study. As he reached onto his shelf of scrapbooks, Harry’s hand was shaking immensely. “He deserves to know,” Harry said encouragingly to himself.

When he returned to the kitchen table, Draco appeared much more agitated than when he left. Harry merely resumed his seat and placed one very particular book between them. The front cover read ‘Malfoy’. If Draco was surprised, he didn’t display it. Instead, he eagerly opened the book and with exceedingly widening eyes flipped quickly through the scrap pieces of the Prophet from over the years. Harry felt like the next few seconds lasted for hours. His heart was hammering so loudly in his chest he was certain it would stop beating at any moment.

“You-“ Draco stopped, inhaling as he pushed the scrapbook containing too many old memories of him and his family. “You’re a wizard? And this?” he gestured at the book, “What is this all about? Have you always…liked me? I have never seen you before that night at Heaven,” Draco didn’t sound offended, he sounded rather baffled by the entire situation.

“No, you have not seen me before that night…like this,” Harry said pointedly. “And no, I most definitely did not always like you,” and with that thought, he exhaled with a small chuckle at the end of his breath. “I began to keep scrapbooks back at school; not just about you but about myself as well, the war, my friends, the Weasleys…anything I found particularly important to me. You were always important to me, too, but in a different way. I loathed you, Merlin, I loathed you more than I did anyone in my entire life including Voldemort himself.”

Draco twitched at the name, his cheeks were flushed and he had abandoned his coffee altogether. “Who are you?” Draco asked after several deep breaths.  

Harry frowned. The polyjuice had another few minutes, perhaps he could just wait till Draco saw who he was. “Before you know,” Harry began, “I want you to understand something first. I may have lied about what I do for a living, about the exact finite details of my past, but everything else was honest. Everything between us was true. I-I fell in love with you, Draco, more than I have ever been in my whole life,” he said concretely.

“Then why are you trying to leave me? Because you lied to me? I lied, too. We can face the repercussions of such together; it does not mean we need to separate. James, whoever you are, if anything we had was real we may be able to get beyond this,” Draco reasoned.

“I’m not as optimistic about that as you are, Draco, but I wish I were. I wish we could just be together and it could be that simple but it isn’t,” Harry was frowning into the tabletop now. Draco never sounded more sentimental than he was now, he must truly want this relationship to continue and that hurt Harry even more knowing that it most certainly couldn’t. “I am polyjuiced,” he said after another moment.

At this point, the confession did not surprise the other party who merely inclined his head. “That is why I have been acting the way I have been. The man I used to polyjuice myself as gone; the batch I took while you were out in the hall was my last one. If you wanted to, I could polyjuice myself as somebody else, we could keep-“

“What the fuck are you on about? Now that we are finally being authentic you want to forget any of it happened; you want to keep living a lie? I want you, James, the way you truly are. It cannot honestly be that bad.”

“Oh, but it can,” Harry mumbled, slightly surprised Draco hadn’t put two-and-two together yet.

Draco stood up suddenly, his chair screeching as he pushed it back. “Do you have a potions storage?”

Harry frowned; the question seemed too random. “Er, top shelf above the fridge.”

Nodding, Draco helped himself. There wasn’t much in Harry’s store of prepared potions but whatever was there, Draco read carefully before plucking two vials and thrusting them down in front of Harry as he resumed his seat. “Drink them.”

Examining them, Harry realized one was a Pepper-Up potion and the other a sedative, a simple sleeping drought. “This will kill me,” Harry commented, though he knew that was an exaggeration, still, taking both in succession to each other could not be an intelligent combination.

“Not with the wormwood and newt eye ingredients still active from the polyjuice potion,” Draco explained quickly. “It will negate the initial potion’s effects, however.” Harry must have appeared skeptical because Draco was leaning across the table now, his finger jabbing into the front cover of Harry’s scrapbook. “If you truly have any idea who I am, you should understand how skilled I am as a potions brewer.”

Harry conceded to that fact. He tipped both vials back, one right after the other. The combination stung his throat and irritated his stomach. Almost immediately he felt it take effect. Before he began to feel the transformation become visible, he reached into his pocket and withdrew his glasses and tossed them across the table. Draco picked them up, his eyes immediately going wide as he smudged his thumb across the lens of one. Looking frantically and most disbelievingly between the spectacles and the now transforming man before him, Draco’s mouth all but fell onto the floor.

“Potter?” he croaked.

Clearing his throat and taking a sip of the now lukewarm coffee, Harry nodded. “I meant what I said before,” he reminded Draco, “I did fall in love with you. I _am_ in love with you.”

The shock was evident on Draco’s face and his brows were knit together; as if he were concentrating on a Sunday puzzle, the thought of which reminded Harry to return the stack of newspapers to their original state. Remaining in his seat, giving Draco the time necessary to process the familiar, previous enemy before him, Harry returned his belongings to their original state the best he could from his unmoving vantage point.

“You went through all of this,” Draco began slowly, gesturing to the room around them and then landing his eyes heavily on Harry, “Just to lie to me? What the hell did you even think you were doing – what the fuck were you playing at when we first met at Heaven?”

Harry blushed. “That I didn’t want to miss this opportunity,” he admitted truthfully.

“Miss this opportunity?” Draco whispered sounding hurt. “What were you planning to do, embarrass me?”

“For Salazar’s sake, no!” Harry put his face in his hands, taking a shuddering breath. “You looked so unbelievable that night, Draco, you really did. I was pissed, losing the plot, depressed over Maliki, surprised but so fucking interested that you were gay and at a Muggle club…I followed you on a lark,” he admitted.

“And you just had to keep this from me the entire time? Merlin, we had _sex_ , Potter, I was falling in-no, this is just wrong,” Draco stood up abruptly, snarling now and turning away from Harry.

“I tried to leave you, I did, and I should have left sooner but you have to understand…I may be Harry Potter, but I’m still James, Draco, and both of those men love you,” Harry sighed, standing up to follow Draco.

“Sod off, Potter, that doesn’t mean anything anymore. Not after what you have done, how you have lied – I tried to break the Statue of Secrecy for you! And you! You!” Draco was furious, he turned towards Harry, his finger pointed towards him, his whole arm shaking. “You bloody asked me to make the potion that deceived me! Who the _fuck_ does that?”

“I understand you are upset, I don’t expect to ever be forgiven, but you have to try to understand that there was no other options for me. I-I think I was falling in love from the very beginning and I just couldn’t help myself, Draco, I couldn’t tell you it was me…you would have never continued to see me,” he mumbled the last bit, lowering his eyes to his feet; he couldn’t look at the anger radiating from Draco any longer.

Draco had moved away from him again and was making his way towards the door, he looked over his shoulder as he opened it, his voice low and trembling. “That is where you are wrong, Potter, I would have. We could have had something but you are too much a coward for that to ever have been a possibility,” and with that, Draco was gone with one last glance of Harry swearing and kicking the side of his Chesterfield.

In the corridor, Draco apparated home and immediately called his friend over. His voice must have given away the extent of his anger because Blaise came faster than he ever had. Once he appeared in Draco’s study, the blond was already summoning himself a glass of firewhiskey. “What is it? Did you find him?” Blaise asked hurriedly.

“Tch,” Draco scoffed, “I did.”

“How did it go? Did you give him hell?”

“Hell?” Draco repeated, looking up over his glass at Blaise with haunted, piercing grey eyes, “He deserves worse than that, if there is such a thing.”

Blaise rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Does he now? Don’t you feel that’s a bit melodramatic, Draco?”

“I found James. I found where he lived…turns out…bloody hell,” Draco’s voice cracked and his frustration held a bit of desperation now, “It was him all along, Blaise. For the past five months I’ve been dating Harry-bloody-Potter.”

* * *

Time slipped by and Harry was slowly losing the sense of it. He would sleep, wake and bustle pointlessly about his flat, and retreat back to his Chesterfield or bed. When work came, he would go, complete his hours, go home and sleep again. His appetite was lost, he was resorting to nourishment potions to keep him going but they were never enough. He was always tired, always strained, and always upset.

It was a Saturday evening when Hermione had just put Hugo to bed, Ron was sitting idly at the kitchen table, looking out the window into their small yard. Teddy was playing on a Comet 260, he was not allowed to have anything faster yet. Harry was resting on his own Firebolt, laughing at his godson as he attempted to catch a practice snitch.

Hermione came behind her husband, her arms wrapping around his chest as she pulled up a seat behind him, resting her head on his shoulder as she looked over out at the same scene. “He seems better today,” she commented softly.

“Does he?” Ron clipped and then sighed at his tone, placing his hand over Hermione’s. “Sorry, love, I’m just worried. He seems okay but, is he really? I feel like all of this is just a farce he puts on for the kids,” he gestured out into the field.

Teddy had just tumbled from off his broom, only a few inches off the ground as he wasn’t confident enough to go any higher, and Harry laughed even more as he hovered just above him, reaching out his hand to help him upright. The snitch was illuminated in the dark sky, having a semi-permanent lumos cast upon it as it flew around Harry’s head, just out of his reach.

“I believe he just needs time, Ron.”

“It’s been two weeks…I hope it doesn’t take much longer,” he said, turning towards his wife and half-smiling as he locked their lips for a moment.

“Gross,” came a snide comment from the doorway.

Ron and Hermione parted, smiling at Teddy who was resting his broom by the entrance, Harry not far behind him. “Did you catch it this time?” Ron quipped.

Teddy pulled a face and went past the kitchen table and towards the stairs, most likely retrieving his small bag of things left upstairs in the guest room where he had stayed the night before. Harry chuckled as the preteen disappeared, joining his friends at the table. “He’s getting there. I keep trying to convince him he would make a better Chaser, he’s wicked fast, but he keeps saying he wants to be a Seeker,” Harry explained.

Hermione withdrew herself from Ron’s back, smiling. “You seemed to be enjoying yourself out there with him.”

“I guess,” Harry shrugged, frowning slightly.

“Mate, though it’s good to see you somewhat enjoying yourself again, are you really?” Ron asked, receiving a sideways glare from his wife.

Harry heaved out a heavy breath. “I…” he paused, looking down at the scratched wooden table. “I’m as good as I can be. I miss him, but, I knew this would happen. I guess I was prepared for it.”

“As much as I want to say it serves you right…I just want you to cheer up, mate. It’s right depressing, and to think it’s all because of _Malfoy_.”

Teddy reappeared down in the kitchen, his backpack slung over his shoulder. “Ready to go?” Harry asked, standing up. Teddy nodded and bid goodbye to Ron and Hermione before allowing Harry to lead him to the fireplace where he assisted him in using the Floo home. Once he returned to the kitchen, Hermione was casting a few house cleaning spells at the dishes as Ron continued to sit at the table, his lips pursed.

“It may be Malfoy to you, but he’s Draco to me now,” Harry said, picking up where they had left off. “I don’t expect you to understand, but I’ve loved and lost two men in the past few years. It takes more than two weeks to get over it.”

“You keep saying love but how can you love him, how can you know? It’s only been five months and you’ve never even been with him as you!” Ron accused haughtily. “It took me seven years to know I loved Hermione!”

Hermione whirled around from her incantations, placing her hands on her hips and narrowing her eyes at her husband. “There are no rules when it comes to love, Ronald,” she replied tersely, “Besides, Harry and Malfoy never do anything halfway. Remember sixth year? How intensely Harry hated Draco? Some people are just more passionate than others, and it goes both ways.”

Harry flushed at the insinuation of his personality. “Whatever, I just know what I feel, Ron. But it doesn’t matter, none of it does, he wants nothing to do with me anymore and I certainly don’t blame him.”

“Neither do I,” Hermione concurred. “I told you it was dangerous, I told you it was stupid, I told-“

“Hermione,” Ron cut her off warningly. “What’s done is done. All I want to know is how to help you get over it.”

“You don’t, Ron. Love doesn’t just come and go, it doesn’t just disappear. Do you think I’ve ever stopped loving Maliki?” Harry returned bitterly.

Hermione quickly cut in before her husband could speak. “Of course not, but you’re no longer in love with him any longer, are you?”

Harry paused before slowly shaking his head. “Not since Draco, at least.”

“Have you even tried talking to him? Owling him?”

“Are you barmy? He won’t hear from me!”

“That answers it, you haven’t even tried!” Ron accused. “As much as I hate to admit it, you might be better off with Malfoy. You should at least send him an owl, a gift, an apology, bloody well something.”

“That is actually an idea, Harry. You can’t give up before you’ve even tried,” Hermione said, walking off into the drawing room only to return a moment later with a piece of parchment, a quill, and an ink bottle. She set them down in front of Harry.

Harry looked up at her skeptically. “What, you want me to write him now?”

“No better time than the present, mate,” Ron shrugged.

“But what do I even say? I’m a complete imbecile?” he bit out.

“Be honest about everything. Say anything you haven’t and anything you believe he needs to hear,” Hermione suggested gently, placing the kettle on the stove.

Harry sighed, picking up the quill dejectedly and he began to write.

* * *

“You bloody well will get your arse up here this moment!”

“Malfoy, you prat, I’m coming down!”

“You take one step down here, Weasel, and your runt of a sister’s Bat Bogey Hex will look like child’s play!” Draco finally snapped in response. Ron waited at the doorway to the basement of Artephius, hearing heavy footsteps sound on each step, growing louder as they drew nearer.

Draco appeared through the doorway, causing Ron to take a step backwards to allow him through, and he was snarling at the redhead, crossing his arms as he slammed the door behind himself. “What do you want, Weasel? I have work to be doing.”

“You better answer one of Harry’s bloody letters, Malfoy. Call him, text him, just bloody well say something to him before he loses the plot entirely!” Ron immediately snapped.

“If you came here to talk about _Potter_ , then you can just as well sod off,” Draco hissed, turning back for the door but Ron laid a hand on his shoulder. Draco whipped around to meet him, withdrawing his wand, jabbing it directly into Ron’s chest. “Get out of my shop,” he sneered.

Ron swatted the wand away, taking a step forward as he narrowed his eyes down at the blond. “What gives, Malfoy? I know he fucked up, but he loves you. He’s sent you a hundred letters, gifts, and apologies this past month. Even a reply to tell him to sod off would be better than silently returning everything.”

“This is none of your business. Piss off,” Draco stalked back to the basement door, opening and slamming it shut. Ron attempted to follow but only to find it was locked. He swore, retrieving his wand but was quickly interrupted.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Weasley,” came a drawling voice from the other end of the shop.

Lola was greeting a familiar face who quickly edged passed her. “Zabini?” Ron quipped. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Blaise rose his eyebrows. “I could ask the same of you. I was here to take Malfoy out to lunch, but I can see now that his mood has been spoiled more than usual. But you’ll do.”

“I’ll do?” Ron asked confusedly.

“Come on, Weasley, I’m starved and we need to talk,” without looking back, Blaise exited the shop.

Ron stood in his wake for a few moments before swearing to himself and following after, tossing one last look at the basement door behind him.

They settled at a restaurant not far from Artephius. Blaise avoiding each and every one of Ron’s questions as well as his sour mood until their food came. “We have a problem, you and I,” Blaise began. “It sounds like your friend is just as put aside as my own. Bit maddening, isn’t it?”

Ron blinked a few times. He had known Blaise Zabini was friends with Draco during school, but he could never actually imagine the Slytherins being close enough for Draco to display any sort of intimate emotions with him. “Er, completely,” Ron agreed at last. “But no matter what Harry sends him, Malfoy won’t even look at it, he just sends it back.”

“I know, he whinges about it every time he sees another letter from Harry. Do you have any idea how bothersome Malfoy can be when he is as peeved as he is?” Blaise droned.

“I can only imagine,” Ron mumbled, the bloke was irritating enough to begin with. “But what can we do about it? Malfoy won’t give me or Harry a second, Harry won’t let up until he at least talks to Malfoy again-“

“Then let’s make it so your little Golden Boy can talk to Malfoy again,” Blaise suggested airily.

Ron blinked. “You mean, force them to speak? How the bloody hell can we do that?”

“I can get Malfoy to meet me somewhere, if you can get Potter to meet you somewhere as well,” Blaise loosely enlightened.

“You mean set them up?” he asked incredulously. “Malfoy will kill me!”

Blaise chuckled. “Malfoy is not as terrifying as people seem to believe he is, just leave him to me, Weasley.”

They finished lunch, deciding on the details of their plan, and Ron was pleasantly surprised that Blaise was a tolerable individual. Having decided that the sooner they got their friends together, the better, Ron was nervously walking alongside an equally uneasy Harry towards a Muggle pub not far from Harry’s Heaven.   Harry kept wringing his hands together, adjusting his shirt, running his hand through his hair, to a point where Ron had to slap away his hands.

“Would you quit it,” Ron hissed.

“I can’t help it, I’m wrecked,” Harry muttered.

Thinking it wisest to explain to Harry what he and Blaise had set up, Harry knew where he was heading and who he was going to see. Draco, however, was left entirely in the dark. When they appeared before the pub, Ron clapped his friend on the back, smiling shakily. “You’ll be fine, mate, just say what you need to so you can put all of this to rest.”

Harry nodded, following the redhead’s lead into the pub. Immediately upon entry, they caught sight of that unmistakeable platinum hair. Ron started off towards him, Harry shielded behind him. Draco rose from his seat immediately upon seeing Ron, his fists clenched as he glared between the old Gryffindor and his best friend.

“What the bloody he-“

Harry stepped out from behind Ron, staring wide-eyed at his old lover. He looked just as he always had but there were weary lines forming around his sunken eyes which now turned on him, momentarily surprised before he sneered. “You bastard,” Draco swore to Blaise, starting to make his way off before his friend grabbed him by the wrist and slammed him back down into his seat.

“As my friend, Draco, you owe me this favour. Talk to Potter,” he stated firmly, getting up himself.

Ron placed a comforting shoulder on Harry before heading off towards the bar with Blaise, mumbling something about staying nearby in case of any ‘incidents’. Blaise had chuckled, concurred, and they went off together leaving Harry to stare awkwardly at Draco who was all but growling at him in return.

Slowly, unsurely, Harry sat across from him at the small table. “Erm, hello,” he began slowly, fidgeting with his hands before him.

Draco crossed his arms at his chest, glaring at Harry. When Harry’s eyes met his, he blushed and quickly looked away. “What do you want, Potter? I have nothing to say to you,” he muttered darkly.

“I just need to speak with you…all I need is a few minutes and then…then I’ll leave you alone for as long as you want me to,” Harry choked out.

“Forever would be preferable,” Draco drawled coldly, his eyes bearing down into the table. “Go on then, I do not have all evening to waste with this.”

Harry nodded hurriedly, he wouldn’t waste this opportunity. He didn’t expect Draco to forgive him, he just needed him to understand, he needed to ensure that he knew exactly how Harry felt – that his emotions didn’t waver with his physical nature. “I already told you and I will tell you again, I never meant for this to happen, I never meant for any of it. But, because of my own faults, it did. And I wish I could say that I hoped it didn’t – but that’d be lying,” Harry admitted gently.

Draco’s eyes shot up at him, only to quick look away once more. “How can you say that? You have wasted my time and yours.”

“I have, but I also got to fall in love again,” he answered earnestly. Draco fought back the blush at the words; it felt too strange to hear them coming from Harry. “I never thought it possible, to love somebody like I did Maliki, but you proved myself wrong. And I wouldn’t trade what I felt for the past five months for anything – not even if that meant not hurting like this.”

“Is there a point to all of this, Potter?” Draco ground out.

“You could at least call me Harry, I mean we have had se-“

Draco slammed his fists down on the table. “ _We_ have not had anything between us. What I had, it was with James, not you,” he hissed.

Harry staggered back in his seat, as if slapped. His mouth hung open until he quickly shut it, clenching his own fists now. Maybe he wasn’t prepared to speak to Draco, it was too difficult. “I am James,” he whispered. “He was me as much as I am him. Besides the name, besides the face and being a Muggle, everything I said about myself was true. Everything we felt, that was honest. I need you to know that, Draco, before I can let go. I need you to understand that I love you as much as James does. A polyjuice changes my appearance, not who I am,” Harry elucidated. Draco sat silently, petulantly looking away from Harry once again. He pursed his lips, cautioning himself not to speak. “I want to be with you, despite who I appear to be.”

Leaning back into his seat, Draco let out a low, cold laugh that sent a shiver down Harry’s spine. Finally he met his eyes and didn’t waver, his grey eyes piercing. “Your words are cheap, Potter, they mean nothing to me anymore,” he snarled, standing up now and starting to walk away. Harry grabbed him by the upper arm, quickly rising to stand. Draco pulled himself out of his grasp as if burnt. “Don’t you dare touch me ever again, Scarhead.”

Draco strode out of the pub with deliberation, Blaise bidding goodbye to Ron and hurrying along after. They met on the street, Blaise having to keep a brisk pace in order to stay alongside his friend. They remained silent for a few minutes of their walk towards the tube as Draco was emanating anger. “I think you should give him another chance, “ Blaise commented.

“You cannot be serious, Zabini. He deceived me for months. I don’t even know who he is and I certainly would never care for Potter above anyone. I despise him,” he spat.

“Uh-huh, are you sure about that, Malfoy? Listen, I’m only saying you’re miserable without him.”

“I am miserable because I feel betrayed. That will go away,” Draco defended. “I can’t even look at Potter, knowing what I have done with him,” he visibly shivered, “And you suggest I forgive him, and what, be with him?”

Blaise shrugged noncommittally. “After everything you have been through, I did not take you one to judge based on appearances.”

“Of course I don’t, but this is Potter!” Draco defended himself.

Blaise paused for a moment, grabbing Draco’s sleeve and pulling it up to his elbow. He purposefully gripped his left forearm, drawing attention to the faded Dark Mark. “Yes, that is The-Boy-Who-Lived and yet he still saved you and your mother at your trial a decade ago _and_ he is in love with a Death Eater,” he said pointedly, letting the arm go and leaving Draco in his wake.

Draco did not remember how he got to be home but suddenly he was collapsing into his bed. When he closed his eyes, he recalled James over-top of him, thrusting into him. He could smell him, taste his breath on his lips, feel his body against his own…but James’ face changed, it morphed into Harry’s. The memory even smelt differently. James’ body felt heavier, more solid against Draco’s, and the thought of it aroused him.

When Draco opened his eyes, attempting to shake the altering memory, but instead he saw Harry as if he were really there, emerald eyes blazing down at him. Draco groaned, flushing as he realised the thought of Harry being with him instead of James was actually arousing him. Despite himself, despite his anger which was now settling beneath his stimulation, despite all of his reservations, Draco’s hand involuntarily trailed down his front and he grasped himself. He relentlessly thought only of Harry as he came that night, cursing himself before he eventually fell to sleep.


	6. Chapter Six

_‘Cause you are a fine wine, another fine, fine wine. Pointing at me, hearing me speak._

Unsure of what drove him; determination, anger, or curiosity, but the next week found Draco at Harry’s flat on Friday evening. He paused at his door, leaning close up against it. ‘What am I doing here?’ he questioned himself, and sighed. ‘I am getting what I want – be it Potter or knowledge, I am unsure.’

“I’m not sure what I want,” came Harry’s voice honestly from the other side of the door. Draco, curiosity overtaking him, placed his ear on the door. He felt childish, leaning there, straining to hear the voices from inside.

“Harry, I regret everything. Daniel, cheating on you, it wasn’t right of me.” The second voice, Draco could barely place, but it only took him a moment to recall the barely familiar sound of Maliki.

Immediately, a jealousy surged in him, and it took all of his will to remain still against the door instead of bursting in. He had no idea what he would do, what he would say. “It’s fine, I’m over it. Listen, Maliki, you shouldn’t be here.”

“Why not? I made this flat a home for us, not you, and I want to be back here. I miss it.”

A dark laugh erupted from Harry. “Bollocks, you’re only here because Daniel left you, aren’t you?”

There was a loud slam from inside the flat, causing Draco to startle momentarily. “Fuck you, Harry, I’m here for you. Because of you! What I’ve had with Daniel is nothing compared to what we had. I want it back, all of it. I miss it. I miss you,” and Maliki sounded sincere. Sincere enough that Draco’s hands curled into a fist on the door and his body began to tremble.

‘How can Harry just sit there and listen to this drivel from a man who treated him that way?’ Draco inwardly cursed.

“You can’t say you don’t miss it, too. Have you even been with anybody since me?” Maliki’s voice had softened considerably, and Draco heard a shuffling of bodies and a contented sigh. It sounded as if they were embracing, as if Harry was allowing it to happen.

“I’ve been with plenty of men,” came Harry’s muffled response.

“Yes, but have you really _been_ with anybody?”

There was an elongated pause and Draco waited, rather impatiently for the response. It was barely audible. “Yes, briefly.”

Maliki’s voice was hard again, there was more shuffling and the man seemed to have come closer to the door as he sounded louder. “And? Did you love him? Or did he get sick of you lying to him, too?”

“Fuck off, Maliki,” Harry spat. “What happened between me and him is none of your damned business. You can’t expect to come back here after all this time, just because you’ve had a spat with Daniel. I don’t have time for this, Maliki.”

There was some noise Draco couldn’t decipher, and then a strange squeak of surprise which he assumed came from Harry. Then there was an unmistakeable sound that stunned Draco. He had no idea how he remained still, listening to them kiss, but as he did he had begun to feel dizzy. The thought of Harry, of James – whoever he was to Draco – kissing somebody else infuriated him. “Give it time, Harry. You’ll remember just who you are supposed to be with. You know where to find me.”

At the sound of nearing footsteps, Draco hurried back from the door, nearly flattening himself up against the opposing wall. Maliki exited the flat, closing the door softly beside him, not leaving room enough for Draco to peer inside nor Harry to see out. Maliki stopped immediately upon seeing the blond plastered against the wall, his fists clenched as he shook.

“Excuse me, do I know – oh, yes, you’re that man that was looking for…” Maliki trailed off, casting a glance over his shoulder and back at Draco again. He approached Draco determinedly now, his eyes glinting.

Collecting himself, Draco straightened up, meeting Maliki’s gaze levelly. “And you’re that bastard that hurt Ja- _Potter_ ,” Draco quickly corrected himself.

“He got what he deserved,” Maliki returned resolutely, crossing his arms.

‘Got what he deserved?’ Draco thought. ‘This arsehole has no idea just what kind of damage he had done to Potter, just how much he had hurt him, and how much Potter loved him and he was lucky-‘ Draco shook his thoughts, they were spiralling out of control. No, all he wanted were questions answered tonight, but he was getting lost in his own feelings.

“You would do best to get out of here,” Draco snarled at last.

Maliki shrugged, turning towards the stairs, his back to Draco. “I have no qualms with you, whoever you are, but just so you know, Harry will come back to me.” With that, Maliki had gone.

Draco, without another thought, rounded on Harry’s door. He knocked on it four times, hard enough to elicit a red irritation across his knuckles. When answered, Draco pushed passed the stunned man and into the flat. He showed himself to the kitchen, leaning heavily on one of the chairs. Harry was quick to follow. “Draco, what-“ he was silenced by a raised hand.

“What was that about, then?” Draco waved the raised hand in the direction of the door.

Harry blinked a few times, clearly still stunned at the other’s presence as he slowly answered. “Maliki?” he clarified, Draco quickly nodding. “Erm, I guess he had a spat with Daniel. Happened before, round a year ago, and he came back. I was foolish enough to sleep with him only for him to leave the next day,” Harry explained. “But he doesn’t matter why-“

“He does matter! Potter, why in Salazar’s name do you allow him to treat you like that?” Draco was yelling now, his breathing ragged and hands clutching the top of the chair so tightly he was certain any harder and he would give himself splinters.

“I was dense enough to fall for him coming back the first time, I won’t do it again,” Harry muttered. “What does it matter to you, Draco?”

“What does it matter to me? You were kissing him a moment ago and you have the audacity to ask what it matters to me?” he snapped.

Harry blushed, open and closing his mouth in surprise multiple times before he finally spoke. “You heard that?” he quipped, Draco’s narrowed eyes his only response. “I…have lingering feelings for Maliki and I believe I always will. He was my first everything, including my first love,” Harry admitted, “To say no to him is difficult but I always will. After what he has done, I can’t say yes.”

“And yet you expect me to forgive you?” Draco returned icily.

“N-no, that’s not…I never expect that of you,” Harry hung his head, sighing. “I only wanted you to understand me, not forgive.” Draco pursed his lips before letting go of the chair, breathing out a heavy sigh. “Why are you here? Not that I mind! But I thought you wanted nothing to do with me,” Harry continued.

Turning his back to him, Draco carded a hand through his hair shakily. “I thought I didn’t, but…I’m bloody confused here, Potter, okay? I need some answers, I need to really understand everything before I can figure out what I want,” he confessed.

Harry, still slightly stunned, felt a surge of excitement. There was a possibility, a slight possibility that Draco wanted to be with him again. That Draco would want the real him, without the polyjuice. “Of course!” he said hurriedly, withdrawing his wand and flicking it behind Draco’s head at the kettle, levitating it with ease. “Cuppa?”

Draco grunted in response so Harry prepared two cuppas for them and once they were settled at the table, Draco spoke again. “Tell me everything you ever lied to me about.”

“Erm…” Harry trailed off nervously, gripping the now hot cuppa, his eyes flickering between Draco across the table and the steaming liquid before him. “Not much, honest. Everything was real, everything besides being a Muggle. You know where I work, what I do, the Scotland Yard was hardly an exaggeration.”

“Bollocks. What about your past, growing up? You had to have lied about that,” Draco accused.

Quickly shaking his head, Harry dove into the topic. As much as he preferred not to speak about the Dursleys, he would give Draco anything he asked for at the moment. “That was honest. I grew up with my Uncle and Aunt, they were horrible sorts of Muggles, them and my cousin. I told you the truth about that, Draco. Wherever possible, I told you the truth,” Harry reassured him.

Draco was eyeing him cautiously now, raising his mug up to his lips and back down again. “Keep going,” he urged gently. “I want to hear of every instance you can recall, of it all. And I want to know about that book.”

Harry did not need to ask which book he was referring to, but he quickly set out to explain all aspects of half-truths Harry had given him over the few months they were together. They were nearly finished their cuppas when Harry began to explain the book and his odd habit of collecting scraps from the Daily Prophet. “Would you like to see?” Harry offered, “I can show you all of the books I have put together, with ‘Mione’s help, of course.”

“No, I just…” Draco paused, taking an unsteady breath, “I need to think.”

Afraid that he was letting an opportunity slip through his fingers, Harry quickly followed Draco who was now heading back towards the door, but when the blond opened it turned around, shaking his head. “Don’t follow me, Potter.”

“If, uh,” Harry rubbed the back of his neck nervously, his voice was shaking, “If I let you walk out that door again, I’m afraid you won’t come back.”

“That is just something you will have to leave up to me, Potter.”

Unwillingly, Harry stepped back and watched Draco leave. He felt himself expand the moment the door closed, leaving him to himself in his flat. Too much had happened and changed in such a short span of time. Maliki had asked him back for a second time, and that kiss they shared had momentarily transported Harry back to a time where they were together, living in the same flat kissing in the same manner.

Then there was Draco.

He had come for answers but had been clearly disturbed by Maliki’s presence. Certainly that meant something. The evening slipped by and Harry had made himself sick with waiting. Draco had not returned, and Harry had not expected him to, but he would wait nonetheless.

The next day, Harry found himself tidying his flat continuously, desperate to keep himself busy. Taking out the second novel Draco had sent him, Harry propped it open to the first page, intent on rereading it, but just as he settled there was a knock at the door.

Answering it, Harry felt a million thoughts rushing through him but none were tangible enough to hold onto. Draco stood tall dressed in Muggle clothing, his arms stiffly at his sides as he peered down at Harry’s feet as if he were attempting to burn a hole through them. Harry wanted to do nothing more but embrace him, kiss him, apologize again in a thousand more ways than he already had. “You’re back,” Harry finally settled with saying.

The relief heard in his voice, the tragic hope, had Draco’s ears turning pink. “What an astute observation, Potter. May I?” Draco inclined his head towards the flat.

Harry was about to step aside, to usher him in, but he thought otherwise. Boldly, he reached forward and grasped his hand, pulling him in and closing the door softly behind him. Draco struggled against the hand at first before succumbing to its hold, loosely holding it back to Harry’s delight. Wordlessly, he allowed himself to be pulled into the flat, past the living room and the kitchen, and down the narrow corridor.

“Potter, we need to talk before-“

“I know, I know,” Harry hushed, bringing to his study now, his hand tightening in Draco’s. He turned to face him, smiling softly. Draco was taken aback by the genuineness of the smile. “And please, call me Harry,” he requested.

Draco mumbled something unintelligible as the pink drew up from his ears to his cheeks. “Are you even going to ask why I am back?”

They were standing in the small, cluttered studied now and Harry was using his free hand to run his finger along the shelf of his scrapbooks. Draco was watching him intensely, quickly looking away when Harry turned back to smile at him. It was breath-taking. “Do I have to?” Harry returned, squeezing his hand effectively.

“I am not…I still do not know what I want, Pot-Harry,” Draco corrected.

“Then why are you back here?” he asked, finally taking a book from the shelf and leading Draco to the armchair where he sat him down, finally letting his hand go and standing before him.

“Because Zabini was right…and because…bollocks,” Draco swore, swallowing his pride, “Because I bloody stayed up all night thinking about you taking back Maliki and I simply could not handle it. I did not understand why at first, I thought it was the sheer principle of the matter. How far from the truth that is. After we spoke, after my bastard of a friend and that Weasel forced us to meet, I stopped seeing James and…bugger, it does not matter,” Draco flushed.

Harry was listening patiently, looking down at him with those sharp emerald eyes of his. Draco could get used to those, he thought absently, more than he could James’. “When you came to Artephius, when I saw you in Flourish and Blotts, I reckon I did not despise you like I once did. I haven’t for a long time,” Draco continued, taking Harry’s astute silence as a question for more. “That coupled with the time I spent with James, I enjoyed it. As pissed as I am…you said you loved me,” Draco blushed again now.

Harry had never seen Draco like this. He didn’t seem as confident as usual, he seemed unsure yet determined in his own way. “I do,” Harry assured him quietly and then placed a heavy book in his hands.

Draco looked down at it, his eyebrow raising at the front cover. It almost looked like Harry, nearly, a younger, leaner version, embracing a redhead with – “Is this your mother? Your father?” Draco asked, his fingers tracing across the moving photograph.

“James and Lily,” Harry provided. “I thought maybe, erm, to make-up for lost time you would like to start at the beginning. This is me,” he gestured around the room. “For the most part, other than the Dursleys, everything important about me is in here. The first Chocolate Frog card I ever got,” he went over to the shelf parallel to the one holding his books and retrieved it, holding it up for a moment. “This,” he said, his face softening as he held onto a large spare bit of parchment. It appeared worn, folded up with a particular design. “This is one of my favourite things I own. It’s called the Marauder’s Map,” he explained, bringing it over to Draco.

“Marauder’s Map?” Draco queried, taking the parchment being offered to him.

Harry withdrew his wand and pressed it to the parchment. “I solemnly swear I am up to no good,” he spoke. The Marauder’s Map slowly scrawled its ink work across the parchment.

Draco looked down at it, confused at first, but as soon as he opened it, his eyes widened. “Is this Hogwarts?” he asked incredulously.

“Mhm, I’ve had it since third year,” Harry smirked. The Map always impressed. “It shows you where  everyone is within the castle. There are a few parts that are no longer operational, ever since the battle of Hogwarts, but it generally still works.”

“That…that is bloody brilliant!” Draco beamed, feeling momentarily projected into a younger version of himself at the excitement at this. He imagined what fun it could have been at school to have this, what he could have gotten away with. And then he realised just what Harry could have used it for. “Sixth year,” he began cautiously, “You used this to follow me, didn’t you?”

Harry became pale and turned away. “I did,” he shortly admitted. “Would you like to hear about that, too?” Harry would tell him, if he wanted, everything. He was being given an opportunity, one that he wouldn’t let slip through his fingers again.

“No, not sixth year,” Draco shook his head. “It was the worst year of my life, that and what came after. We rehashed it enough during my trial. But this, how did you come by this?”

Harry smiled, drawing up the other armchair now with his wand still withdrawn. “Fred and George gave it to me, but, I have a feeling it would have found me in the end, even if they hadn’t. The Marauders, my father was one of them, he and his friends made the map. Look here, on the front,” Harry leaned forward, folding the parchment over in Draco’s hands, indicating at the inked names. “They called him Prongs. My godfather, Sirius Black, he was Padfoot, and Remus Lupin was Moony. And I believe you knew Wormtail,” he finished levelly.

Draco peered up from the parchment to Harry and back down again, so many questions running through his head. “Tell me,” he simply said. And so Harry did.

He told Draco everything he could think of, from the Dursleys, from all his years at Hogwarts and whatever was in between. Harry showed him each of his scrapbooks, pointing out what was pivotal and sometimes just leaving Draco to glance through the moving pictures. Time passed quickly, with Harry even entrusting Draco to be by himself in the study as, a few hours into his visit,  Harry left to go to the café not far from his flat. He had brought back coffee, sandwiches, and biscuits which Draco barely touched.

“You had conducted this whole thing,” Draco whispered at one point. Harry remained quiet, waiting for the explanation. “I know now you did not mean for this all to happen at first, but you conducted every piece of our being together. You were like that man that stands in front of the orchestra, and I was your musician. You waved your hand, and I played for you.”

Harry frowned, he understood the reference to the first Kivari novel Draco had suggested he read. “Does the musician not have the will to choose whether they want to follow, though? If the musician truly wanted to play, then they were able to be conducted. If you did not wish to _play_ ,” Harry exaggerated, disliking the comparison, “Then you would not have.”

“I only played because I was lonely, Harry. It is rather conniving for you to capitalise on that,” Draco drawled, though there wasn’t as much hatred or terseness in his voice as before.

“I didn’t mean to,” Harry muttered, though he knew it appeared that way. “I don’t know if they taught you science in your primary school, but to me there is another definition of conductor,” he said after a moment. “If I am either conductor, I’d be that one; the one that electricity flows through, and _you_ are the energy. Ever since school you fuelled me, but now it’s in a different way.”

Draco’s face was perplexed as he was contemplating what Harry said before he resumed looking at the book still in his lap; this particular book Hermione had put together. Over time, the awkward silences were becoming fewer and further between, but Draco still seemed unable to hold Harry’s eyes for much longer than a few moments at a time. When it all seemed finished, when everything about Harry was lying bare before them, Draco slowly stood up from the armchair. He felt stiffened and overwhelmed, his head throbbing slightly. Harry watched him closely, his eyes widening the closer Draco came. Eventually he ended up hovering over Harry, tentatively reaching out with his hand which pressed into the side of Harry’s cheek.

Harry sighed, closing his eyes and pressing into the hand, relishing the touch. He never thought he would be lucky enough to feel it in his own body. “You could have killed yourself, Harry,” Draco was barely audible, and though Harry kept his eyes closed he could feel him moving even closer still. “I warned you whatever you were doing was not worth the risk of the polyjuice, you have most likely developed a lifelong intolerance to it.”

Opening his eyes, Harry closed his hand over Draco’s. He was standing so near to him now he was practically on top of him, but he dared not touch any part of Harry other than his cheek. “You were worth it, Draco, I never thought I would be able to have you otherwise. Hell, I never knew I wanted you till it was too late.”

Slowly, completely aware of each movement he made, Draco lowered himself on top of Harry. He sat on his lap and withdrew his glasses, folding them and placing them down on the arm of the chair. His hand rose up to Harry’s cheek again but this time it was shaking, Harry caught it, holding it curiously. “You have to understand, this is all a bit strange for me,” Draco explained in a whisper, “I want to be here with James, but I want to kiss you as Harry.”

“Then you can have both, Draco, because we’re both the same man,” Harry gently reminded him, squeezing his hand and using the leverage of it to pull Draco towards him.

“Yes, I am beginning to see that,” Draco was breathing against Harry’s lips now, his grey eyes half-lidded, until they fully fluttered shut and he closed the distance between them. Their first kiss was familiar yet dissimilar.

Harry tasted the same, but he felt different. His lips were dryer than James’, and fuller. His jaw was harder, his mouth opened slightly wider, and when Draco took his hand to run it through his messy raven hair, it felt heavier. It was as though he was kissing Harry for the first time, and in a way he was, but there was a comfort in his kiss, a confidence in the way Harry responded. His hands held Draco gently at his lower back, he tilted his face at an angle he was used to kissing James at.

Draco deepened the kiss, his hand at the back of Harry’s neck, pulling him inward. Harry took this as an invitation and he shifted in his chair, taking Draco by the hips and coercing his body into straddling him. Draco’s breath hitched as he felt Harry’s arousal grow underneath him, the man’s fingers tightening their grip on his sides before Harry pulled back completely, and he was smiling dazzlingly up at Draco, like a child on Christmas morning at the sight of the tree.

“I have one last thing to show you. Something I have always kept.” Harry wandlessly summoned the object, his hand outstretched and waiting for it. It had come from a cabinet beneath one of his shelves. It was a long, narrow box, and at its sight Draco’s eyes widened. Harry was offering it to him timidly, an embarrassed flush rising up his cheeks.

“For the longest time Ron would tell me just to toss it, or turn it into the Ministry, but I knew they probably wouldn’t feel inclined to give it back to you. After a while, I lied and told him I had done that, but…I just couldn’t throw it away. It was your wand, and I know what it’s like to lose it and I couldn’t stand the thought of destroying another one. Especially one that saved my life. It was essential in defeating Voldemort and…I just thought one day I could give it back to you,” Harry explained. “I wanted to sooner, but, we were never on the best of terms and I never knew when it was appropriate and-“

“Harry,” Draco hushed him as he opened up the case, revealing his first wand. It gleamed ivory like the day he had received it at Ollivander’s and it appeared barely used. “It looks…new.”

Harry flushed. “Well, I couldn’t just let it sit around all these years. I have used it a few times, I felt it helped hold some of its life. And erm, I kept it polished, which is more than I can say for my own wand,” he muttered the last bit.

Draco revelled in the meaning of his wand. Harry, no matter the person, was always thinking of others. When the war first ended, they were hardly on friendly terms, and yet he still kept his wand safe and clean. His innate consideration was overwhelming in comparison to any other person Draco had ever met. Harry, despite the incidences he recalled of him at school, was naturally kind. It was this, his quiet input, his calm disposition, that attracted Draco to James. And these qualities were the most evident ones in Harry, and they always had been. It only took an extenuating circumstance for Draco to see that.

With a trembling hand, Draco closed the case, handing it back over to Harry who took it in confusion. “Keep it here,” Draco instructed, his eyes finding Harry’s, “In case I misplace mine or, Merlin forbid, break it. It would be nice to have a spare somewhere I intend to be very frequently in the future.”

Harry stilled. “Do you mean…you want to be with me still? Again?” Harry quickly corrected, shaking his head. He felt astonished.

Draco found a small grin pulling at the corners of his lips, he reached forward and pushed Harry’s fringe aside, briefly peering at the faded scar on his forehead and back down again. “I must be barmy for even considering it, but yes. I desperately want to see where we can bring this, I…” Draco took a deep breath, “…I believe I may be able to be happy with you. After I have finished being peeved off,” he smirked at Harry’s amused chuckle. “Zabini kept telling me that you may have been an absolute prick doing what you did, but what else would anybody expect – you’re Potter, you always get yourself into a tangled mess.”

“Unfortunately true as that is, I would much rather not talk about Zabini right now,” Harry said, grasping Draco by the collar of his shirt and bringing their lips together again.

This time there was no hesitation, there were no questions hammering in either of their heads, and Draco hastily responded, deepening the kiss. He threaded his hands through Harry’s hair again and came to the conclusion that all these years he was hating the messy strands unnecessarily – they felt thick and impossibly soft in between his fingers.

After a few moments, Harry’s arousal was too prominent against Draco’s arse to be ignored. Draco experimentally rolled his hips which caused Harry to breath into his mouth. Harry’s hands were steady as they explored Draco’s back, bottom, and sides. Every movement he made seemed stronger, more deliberate, and surer than when he was James – perhaps because he felt more comfortable in his own skin.

Draco drew apart from him to speak, his voice heavy, and when he did Harry started to trail soft, lingering kisses down his jaw and neck – it caused him to shiver at each touch. “I was afraid to commit to James, but I wanted to, but the Statue of Secrecy… _ah_ ,” Draco lost himself and his words as Harry found that spot just behind his ear again. And he kissed him, lightly bit him, just like James used to but with vigor.

“You don’t have to worry about that anymore,” Harry said against his skin, groaning as Draco couldn’t resist turning his hips into him again.

At his low, gruff sound, Draco let his intruding thoughts disappear. He desperately wanted this moment with Harry, and he would have it to its fullest. Bringing their lips together, their kiss was feverish this time and Draco worked with deliberation. He wanted to know what Harry felt like, all of him, what his chest would look like.

Unbuttoning Harry’s shirt, the raven-haired man responded quickly by working at Draco’s own clothing. Their lips barely parted as Draco worked off the fabric, Harry following his lead. He took a moment to glance down and revelled at what he saw. Harry was toned, much more than James had been, his abdomen was taut and defined.

Having noticed what Draco was doing, Harry leaned back into his chair and allowed Draco all the time he wished for his hands and eyes to roam over his newly exposed skin. He stopped on a scar, the one that had begun the fight which resulted in Maliki leaving. “From that laceration curse?” Draco queried.

Harry turned his face away from Draco now, nodding. Since becoming an auror, Harry had many more scars than the infamous one of his forehead. He had never been particularly fond nor confident of them. Draco’s hand outlined each of them from the one on his jaw to the one above his right chest, from another curse, and a third on his left bicep from a run in with a werewolf. Harry reached up and placed his palm against the scar that ranged across the middle of Draco’s chest, pressing into it. “We all have our scars,” he whispered, “It was hard for me not to apologise for this one every time I saw it.”

Draco shook his head slightly, “My past has made me who I am. I enjoy who I am now, my job, my life, my friends…you,” he admitted, “And as much as I was reluctant to admit it before, you were always integral to my life in some way. This scar is just another reminder of that.” Draco sighed as Harry seemed unconvinced to let it go. Taking his hand in his own, Draco turned it over and ran his fingers across the most faded of all Harry’s scars; the words etched into his skin. “I may not have put this on you, but I know I caused you suffering in the same relation this did.”

Harry flushed and was about to speak again but Draco was covering his mouth with his own. His tongue moved slowly across Harry’s lower lip and into his mouth briefly before withdrawing again. Draco was pecking him softly now; his lips, his cheek, his jaw, and back up again. Harry groaned at the feeling of Draco and his ministrations on his own body – it felt better than he could have ever imagined, to be with Draco in this context as himself.

Grinding down into Harry once more elicited a rumble in the depths of Harry’s chest. Draco smirked satisfactorily and shimmied off Harry’s lap. He gracefully backed onto the floor, his grey eyes glinting up at Harry as he leaned back on his palms, his own arousal now evident through his tightened slacks. Harry ran a hand through his hair at the sight of Draco on his study floor, his heart hammering, “Merlin, Draco, you look bloody gorgeous.”

“Come here,” the blond responded and Harry immediately obeyed, clambering to the floor. He didn’t need any more of an invitation. Harry covered Draco’s body with his own, grinding into him. Draco’s hands were grasping at his back now, urging him to continue.

They moved like this, in unison on the study floor, for some time before a strangled noise escaped Harry. He quickly lifted up off of Draco, breathing ragged and eyes dilated. Draco recognized the look, the trembling which explained Harry’s nearing to the verge of orgasm. Working his hands between their bodies, Draco tugged at the rim of Harry’s trousers. “Take them off,” Draco demanded.

Harry opened and closed his mouth, not responding nor moving. Draco rolled his eyes and worked at his own trousers instead, maneuvering underneath Harry until they were off. Harry gasped as he felt Draco’s unobstructed erection against him now, pressing into his own clothed one. “I still want you, Harry, just like I did a month ago,” Draco assured him.

“But, I – “ Harry stopped himself and scampered off of Draco, clumsily taking off his trousers but not climbing back on top of him. “If you want to…I want to feel you…if I could, I mean, erm, if you’re comfortable with it and…I’ve never really felt you like and…”

Draco laughed at his sudden nervousness and responded by crawling towards Harry, pushing him fully back onto the floor. He ran his hands over him, his eyes and fingers pausing briefly at the erection that was new to them. “If that is what you want,” Draco said, his hand slipping down to Harry’s bollocks and running over them.

Harry’s body jerked beneath Draco at the sensitive touch, his eyes were trained on him. “More than anything,” Harry breathed truthfully.

Wandlessly, Harry summoned lubrication and shoved it into Draco’s hands. The blond gripped it for a moment. “Bloody wandless magic would have been useful before, you know,” he grumbled teasingly as he set to prepare Harry.

Harry laughed but the sound was lost as Draco’s hands slipped underneath his bollocks. He wanted to close his eyes, to become lost in the sensation, but he refused to look anywhere but at Draco. He didn’t want to miss one second of it.

When Harry was ready, Draco steadied himself at his entrance as he looked over Harry. The difference between him and James was staggering now. But Draco wouldn’t have any other way and that realisation had him eager to feel him. Harry’s hands reached up, grasping Draco’s arms, “Please,” he whispered. Draco greedily obliged, taking it slowly at first, going in and out until he fully eased his length into Harry.

Wriggling beneath Draco, Harry’s grip tightened on his skin and he was biting his lower lip. “Fuck, Draco, you feel so good…please,” he pleaded again. Silently, yet with his heart thudding loudly in his ears, Draco pulled out and pushed all the way back in again. Harry cried beneath him. Draco began to thrust more readily, creating a rhythm and once he settled into it Harry began responding, pushing down to meet Draco and turning his hips every few thrusts to change the angle ever so slightly.

Draco was losing himself in the feeling of Harry’s warmth surrounding him; he collapsed on top of him, thrusting at uneven intervals now. Harry was moaning loudly now every time Draco thrust fully into him, and he felt himself coming close to the verge of orgasm. Grasping Draco’s hips, he urged him down into him in one, hard thrust, and as he did he cried out and a hot liquid spilled between them.

With an enraptured look, Draco pulled back slightly to look at Harry’s face contorting in pleasure before softening again. “Merlin, Harry,” he swore and picked up his jagged pace until he was moaning and filling Harry.

Peeling himself off, Draco was breathing heavily on the study floor, dazed and satisfied. Harry quickly sidled up next to him, settling halfway on his torso. “That was brilliant,” Harry commented. “Not just the sex,” he added pointedly, “But to hear you say my name like that, too.”

Draco drowsily smiled, wrapping his arms around Harry’s torso and pulling him closer. They stayed like that, entwined and savouring each other’s presence, for some time until Draco’s stomach grumbled. Harry laughed at it, cleaning themselves up with a few muttered incantations. “Do you even use a wand anymore?” Draco commented, his eyebrow raised as he propped up on his elbows, watching Harry getting dressed.

Harry shrugged. “I still need it for any spells that need more concentration, like a patronus charm. Ever since I had the Elder Wand, I just feel more comfortable not using one at all, to be honest,” he admitted. “Do you like flapjacks?”

Startled at the question, Draco blinked. “Flapjacks?”

“Yes, the food. Perhaps you have heard of them?” Harry returned, a slight teasing edge to his tone. “I haven’t much in my flat to eat, but I could make you flapjacks.”

“Flapjacks for dinner? Potter, how unrefined.”

Harry grinned down at Draco, still half-lying on the floor, naked. “Oh, sod off, do you want me to cook for you or not?”

“I guess flapjacks for dinner will do. Just this once,” Draco conceded, lazily gathering his own clothes now. Harry bent down, kissing him on the head, lingering for just one moment longer before retreating to the kitchen. Taking a look about the room, Draco sighed. He was exhausted from talking, from the sex, from thinking too much that day, but despite his weariness, he didn’t want to leave Harry’s flat. The knowledge of that comforted him in some way. Perhaps, despite the lingering anger and distrust at Harry’s previous actions and decisions, this could work out for them. “A Death Eater and the Golden Boy, how bloody poetic,” Draco jeered, shaking his head as he left out to the kitchen.

Harry prepared them an odd breakfast for dinner compilation in relative silence, putting on the radio at Draco’s request but otherwise having little to say. The silence, however, was not unwelcome.  Each time Draco’s eyes drew over Harry, he became less surprised, less shocked at the fact that it was _Harry Potter_ he was with and not a Muggle. Even over a short period of time, he was becoming accustomed to it, and the idea of Harry being his…it was beginning to excite him.

Feeling eyes resting heavily on him, Harry asked about it once he served dinner. “Do I make you uncomfortable?”

Draco started at the question. “No, not really. I believe I am making myself uncomfortable because…I really don’t feel uncomfortable with you. Does that make sense?”

Harry cocked his head, “I guess. Is there anything I can do to make it easier? Draco, you have no idea how eternally sorry I am for everything, and I just want to make-“

Reaching across the table, Draco covered Harry’s hand with his own, stilling him. “Did you mean what you said? Before, about…”

Nodding, Harry didn’t urge Draco to finish his sentence. “I did, and I do. I thought I had completely lost the plot at first, but then I realised that I just loved you.”

Draco nodded, knitting his brows together and looking down at his plate, not removing his hand from Harry’s and using his other to begin feeding himself. After a few minutes of silence, other than the clattering of cutlery on porcelain, Draco spoke softly. “I don’t trust you, Harry. I want to, and maybe I do in some ways, but in this relationship, whatever it may be, I don’t trust you. Not yet.”

“I know,” Harry returned quickly, “I never expected anything of you after I mucked everything up. This is more than I could have hoped for and I don’t expect you to trust me, but…I want to prove you can from now on, over time, if you let me.”

Lifting his eyes up, he found Harry’s emerald ones looking at him so earnestly and openly. Draco found himself smiling again. “I would like that, because I want to…I thought I was…I have never loved somebody before, Harry, not like you did Maliki,” Draco confessed.

Harry nodded, he had heard this before, even though he heard it as James. “I don’t expect you to say you love me back, Draco.”

“But I want to.”

“Then we can take our time,” Harry assured him, “And maybe I can show that you can trust me again one day.”

Draco seemed satisfied with that thought and he allowed it to linger before returning to his meal. Once they were finished, he took another look about Harry’s flat and realised how small it really was. “Why do you live here? With your job and who you are…you could live anywhere. This flat is so incredibly small.”

Harry shrugged, turning away from Draco as he concentrated on spelling the dishes to clean themselves. When he turned back, Draco was close to him, peering down his nose at Harry. “Was this where you lived with Maliki?”

“Erm, yeah. With the deposit down, and it being a nice location, I never saw the reason to move. But it is small, isn’t it,” Harry added as an afterthought.

Draco tilted his head, carefully watching Harry as he asked his next question. “Speaking of Maliki, what will you do when he calls on you again?”

“Tell him to bugger off,” Harry growled, yanking Draco up against him.

The blond tumbled into Harry, laughing lightly. “Good enough. I don’t like that man,” Draco commented.

“Good, neither do I. However, I happen to love this one very, very much,” Harry hummed, capturing Draco’s bottom lip between his own for a moment, sucking on it and then lashing his tongue gently across its surface.

Draco breathed haughtily into Harry’s lips, trying to capture them with his own but failing as Harry pulled back, grinning. “You bloody tease,” Draco mumbled, taking a step forward causing Harry to step backwards towards the refrigerator. He pressed Harry’s back up against it and ground into him, bringing his lips to hover before Harry’s but refused to kiss him.

Harry leaned forward, trying to bring them together, but Draco was pinning him with his body. “Do you think you can hold me back?” Harry asked, a slight clipping challenge to his tone.

Raising his eyebrow down at Harry, Draco slowly nodded, settling his leg between the raven-haired man’s thighs and gently bringing it upwards towards his body. In one moment, Draco was teasing Harry, softly prodding his knee into Harry’s once again growing arousal, but in the other moment Harry had grasped Draco’s shoulders and easily turned him around. He pressed Draco’s front up against his counter before the self-washing dishes, Harry coming up close behind him, grinding into his backside. Draco gasped at the sudden change in dynamic, the gasp turning into a groan as Harry thrust against him and reached around with his hand, grasping at Draco through his slacks. “It pays to be an auror sometimes,” Harry mumbled against the nape of Draco’s neck before nipping it with his teeth.

Yelping, Draco threw his head back and closed his eyes. He couldn’t believe he was always getting hard again, his cock lengthening in Harry’s hand as if it were answering its silent command. “Mm, Draco, it’s only been an hour…” Harry commented, thrusting into the blond who unashamedly jerked his hips forward into Harry’s hand at the same time.

Draco had a snarky reply, he was sure of it, but his words died in his throat as Harry’s hand began to press more heavily into his length. A hand was snaked between Draco’s waist and his arm, steadying Harry on the counter as he leaned into Draco, continuing to grind into him as his hand moved in unison. Draco’s breath was coming out in short spurts now as his head fell back, his hands gripping the edge of the counter as he pushed into Harry.

Without Draco noticing, Harry had undone his slacks again and suddenly they were at his ankles. Now Harry grasped Draco’s prick at its base, squeezing it and stilling himself. Draco groaned, trying to thrust into Harry’s hand but he held him still. “I want to feel you now,” Harry breathed into Draco’s ear.

Shivering, Draco attempted to respond again but all he could manage was a slight nod. For the second time that day, Harry surprised Draco with his strength and speed as he quickly turned him about so that his arse landed on the kitchen table. Opening up his legs, Harry pulled off Draco’s briefs and stumbled out of his own pants and brought himself to enter Draco.

Draco wasn’t quite aware of what happened that second time they made love that day. All he could remember was the hard surface under his back, the way Harry muttered ‘I love you’ as he camethe way he brought Draco to orgasm with him, and the way Harry’s face looked as it succumbed to pleasure. It was not something Draco wanted to forget anytime soon.

* * *

“Maybe he had a rough night, just leave him be,” Ron grumbled to his wife.

“A rough night? Ronald, he completely missed dinner and did not answer any of our Floos or owls!” Hermione returned as she hastily strode about Harry’s flat.

Ron stopped at the bedroom door. “Look,” he jabbed his thumb in its direction. “He’s probably just being a lazy sod and still sleeping – bloody lucky bastard.”

Hermione turned a sharp eye to him. “I have to at least tell him that Teddy is expecting him today,” she pushed passed her husband and knocked on the bedroom door. “Harry? Harry, are you awake?” Hermione called softly. When there came no response, she edged herself into the room through the door. Ron rolled his eyes and waited in the hallway, unwilling to be a part of ruining his friends slumber.

Inside the room, Hermione had turned an uneasy colour of pink. Harry was lying on his side, but curled up in his arms was none other than Draco Malfoy. The bedclothes were thrown haphazardly on themselves, to which Hermione was eternally grateful. Tearing her eyes from the sight, she quickly retreated to her husband in the hall. “What is it?” Ron asked concernedly upon seeing her shocked expression.

“Malfoy,” she simply said as explanation. “Harry’s asleep in there with _Malfoy_.”

Ron paled, an incredulous look crossing over his features. “You’re bloody kidding me!” he exclaimed. “Well, good for him, I guess…maybe he will cheer the hell up at last,” he considered.

Hermione nodded, her eyes still wide. “It was just a bit shocking to see, the two of them,” she admitted.

“Come on,” Ron tugged at his wife’s hand, “I think Harry’s in good enough hands right now, we can owl him about Teddy later.”

Within the bedroom, Harry sighed against Draco’s back. “I told you they would go away,” he breathed with relief.

“Good, because I certainly do not want to deal with Weasel and Granger right now,” he drawled.

“Me neither,” Harry chuckled, holding onto Draco a little bit harder. ‘This is good for now,’ Harry inwardly sighed, feeling a wave of contentedness for the first time in a long time as he corrected himself, ‘This is good forever.’


	7. Epilogue

_You’re a conductor. A simple conductor. The electricity just pouring through me._

Snow melted in the doorway as Harry’s feet landed on the heated mat, the moisture it left dissipating almost immediately. He shivered against the chill set into his bones, his cheeks red from the cold wind, as he set his broom down in his best friends’ entrance way.

“Harry? Teddy?” Hermione called from the kitchen.

Harry removed his outdoor wear, hanging it all on the coat rack before joining the witch in the kitchen. She was fiddling with what appeared to be the tops of a dozen meat pies, her bushy hair pulled back in a loose bun, her wand covered in flour on the counter beside her. Washing his hands, Harry stepped in beside her, “Here, let me,” he offered, taking some of the dough and carefully laying it over the pie.

Hermione sighed gratefully, silently accepting the help. “Where’s Teddy?”

“Still practicing outside – he’s been at it every day since the hols started,” Harry commented. “He told me he hopes next year that he’ll be accepted on the House team.”

“Has he talked to you about it yet, Hogwarts?”

“Hasn’t said much, but I think he likes it. You know Teddy,” Harry said, referring to the now eleven year old’s silent behaviour. “Didn’t Bill say something?”

Hermione was bending over the oven, peering in through its glass, and then starting to stir something on the stove top. “Victoire told him that it looks like he’s adjusting well.”

“Good, I’m glad. Although, after that incident on Halloween…ah, but what can you expect from the son of a Marauder, right?” Harry grinned at the thought of the letter Andromeda had received home regarding her grandson’s insubordination.

They worked alongside one another quietly, enjoying the calm before the storm that would be Christmas Eve, until everything seemed settled and cooking in the oven or on the stove top. “So,” she began slowly, “Are you certain he will be alright tonight?”

Harry stilled at the question and frowned. “Why would he not be?”

Hermione shrugged, taking a seat at her kitchen table. “I would feel rather overwhelmed, and a bit outnumbered, with all of the Weasleys and myself if I were him.”

“He’s seen you two loads of times,” Harry returned.

“Yes, but that is us. What about Molly and Arthur? Or Bill? He hasn’t seen any of them since the trial,” she countered pointedly.

“He’ll be fine,” Harry reassured her. “Besides, it’s just dinner, and more importantly I have to survive his _mother_ tomorrow night,” he bemoaned.

Hermione laughed despite herself. “I thought you and Mrs. Malfoy got along.”

“We do, we do!” Harry said quickly, and then he looked down at the table, a blush creeping up his cheeks. “But every damn time we see her she’s always asking us about an heir, about marriage.”

“How exactly does she expect two men to have a child?” Hermione raised her eyebrow at the prospect.

Harry’s blush deepened. “She has quite a few options for us,” he mumbled. Casting a wordless tempus, he frowned at the time. “He should have been here by now.”

“Knowing Malfoy, that means the prat will be here in another half,” Ron grumbled as he came onto the bottom landing of the stairs.

“Wotcher,” Harry greeted, smiling at his best friend. “Where are those little minions of yours? I was going to take them out to watch Teddy fly.”

“He’s still at it, is he? He’s a shoe in for the Ravenclaw team next year,” Ron grinned. “They’re napping, thank Merlin, they’ll need it for tonight.”

“Did you set up the guest rooms? Did you move Rose’s bed into Hugo’s room?” Hermione asked her husband.

Ron came up behind her, rubbing her shoulders with his fingertips. “Yes, dear,” he hummed.

Standing up and stretching his hands overhead, Harry sighed and peered out over the window. Teddy was still racing around the yard, his deep purple hair tipped with snow. He rarely had control over his metamorphagus abilities while he flew. “I think I’ll pop over and get Draco.”

“Do you have to? It’s so much nicer when he’s not around,” Ron whinged.

Hermione glared up at her husband who merely shrugged. His contempt for Draco had not altered much over the past few months, however, they were able to stand one another’s company for longer periods of time than before. “Sorry, mate, he’ll be right pissed if I leave him home alone on Christmas Eve,” Harry grinned.

Telling Teddy he would be back promptly, only to receive no more besides a slight tilt of his head in response, Harry disappeared through the Floo and landed in the mantle place of Draco’s study. Harry waited for only a moment before he heard Draco’s low call. “Take off your shoes!” Shaking his head, Harry toed off his shoes and walked through the study and up the stairs.

He found Draco in his bedroom, standing before his open wardrobe, looking over his new set of robes and trousers. Without even greeting Harry, he immediately began to complain. “Madame Malkin didn’t fit them properly. Look,” he gestured at his ankles where his slacks barely trailed the floor.

Harry rolled his eyes and withdrew his wand. “She’s retiring next year, you know,” he informed his partner, muttering a quick transfiguration spell which took a half inch off the trousers.

Draco looked more pleased with them now and closed the wardrobe, finally turning to greet Harry with a sour look. “Do we have to go? Can we not just take the tube around town, go to the cinema, The Well?”

“The tube is closed in a few hours, we’ve already seen everything decent at the cinema, and The Well isn’t even open till after New Year,” Harry responded, coming to stand before Draco, craning his neck upwards to plant a soft kiss on his lips. “Besides, this is my family. We’re spending Christmas with your family.”

“You say that like I prefer my mother to the Weasleys,” Draco muttered.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Are you complimenting the Weasleys?”

Draco shot Harry an icy glare. “Anything is better than listening to my mother berate us for being unable to bear children.”

“True,” Harry conceded, pulling Draco towards him as he wrapped his arms around his torso. He nuzzled into his neck, kissing it gently. Draco sighed at the touch, his whole body immediately relaxing.

They stood like that for a few minutes; simply embracing with soft kisses lingering on their skin, their lips every few moments. Eventually, Draco withdrew himself. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

“Alright, but just so you know I have an early Christmas present for you when we get home,” Harry said suggestively – he hoped to have Draco in a positive mood while handling all the Weasleys, it would be better that way for everybody.

The evening went by with surprisingly few mishaps. Bill had never quite warmed up to Draco, though he was content to ignore his presence the entire time, and Draco seemed to shy away from the scars on the side of the eldest Weasley’s face. Arthur and Molly had, much to their children’s disbelief, embraced Draco the moment they saw him. Not knowing how to respond, Draco began to speak with them cordially.

It was nearing midnight when they finally fell through Harry’s fireplace, both exhausted, full of food and liquor, and Draco wasted no time hurrying to Harry’s potions cupboard. Ever since Draco and he began to see one another more steadily, his potions supply had to be moved to a larger area in the kitchen. The blond took a hangover solution, giving one to Harry as well who took it without question. Draco never enjoyed the feeling of going to sleep with alcohol in his system, Harry was used to him sobering them up before they fell asleep and he was actually rather grateful for it.

“Are we staying here tonight, or are you just grabbing your new set of robes?” Draco queried, pulling out a chair for himself.

Harry smiled, relishing the fact that Draco automatically assumed they would be spending the evening together. It was rare for them to spend one apart, perhaps only when Harry had to work late at the office or Draco was busy with a particular brew back at Artephius. They had come so far over the past six months. It had been awkward at first, and it took a few months before Draco felt completely at ease in Harry’s presence, but eventually, like all good things, it came to them. Harry couldn’t imagine being with anybody else and he was always entirely grateful, every passing day, for Draco’s forgiveness.

“We don’t have to stay here,” Harry supplied for him, retreating into his room to gather his clothing for the next day. They usually stayed at Draco’s home; it was larger, more accommodating, and he did have a House Elf which – Harry would never admit this bit to Hermione – was a great help whenever they had busy days at work. That, and Harry was certain his flat made Draco uncomfortable. Maliki had picked out most of its furniture, Maliki had picked out the location, and the lingering knowledge of that irked Harry’s new partner. And, back in September, Maliki had shown up on his doorstep when they were watching the telly. That had certainly been an unpleasant experience to endure and Draco had been in a wretched mood for a fortnight afterwards.

An idea crept up in the back of Harry’s head as he took a duffle bag from his closet to fill. His smile grew larger as he came out of his room with his things and met Draco who was flipping through the pages of yesterday’s Daily Prophet at the kitchen table. “What do you think about this flat?” Harry asked.

Draco turned to him sharply, taken aback by the out of place question. “You know what I think. The location is not too poor, however, does it have to be so dull? I really wish you would let Trina paint it,” he commented, referring to his House Elf.

“I think it’s much too small, don’t you?” Harry quipped, dropping his duffle bag to the floor. Draco merely shrugged and turned back to the paper, clearly not understanding the importance of Harry’s questions. Coming up to his partner, Harry physically turned his chair so that he was facing him, he carded a hand through Draco’s soft hair causing the blond to look up at him curiously. “Now your house, that is certainly too big for one person, isn’t it?”

Raising his eyebrows, Draco drawled, “You do remember how many clothes I own, correct?”

“Yes, and you’re about as sentimental as they come and have kept every single thing you’ve ever touched. I bet you’re the only one in our year, besides Hermione, who still has all their assignments and notes,” Harry teased. Draco’s eyes narrowed at him and he was about to defend himself, however, Harry continued. “What would you think…erm…what if I sold my flat?”

Draco’s eyes widened and he stilled. He sat silently for a few moments before the corner of his lips began to turn slowly up into a small, passive smile. “I assume you are insinuating that you would not buy another one?” Harry shook his head. “Then I advise you to do it.” Draco reached out and pulled Harry onto his lap, holding him close to him. “I would like nothing more than for you to do that,” he whispered into his ear before drawing back and kissing him deeply.

Harry sighed contentedly, allowing himself to become lost in the kiss as he relaxed in his lover’s arms. When they pulled apart, their foreheads rested on one another and Draco’s words were barely audible as he spoke. “But you love this flat,” he remarked.

“I do…but I love _you_ more.”

Draco smiled up at him. It was a true, brilliant, and unobstructed smile. “I love you, too, Harry,” he declared, pulling Harry back down to him again, his smile still evident in the kiss he pressed to his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A million thanks to all those who have read/kudos/bookmarked and commented upon this story.   
> To you and my lovely beta (over at FF.net) Arithmancy Master, I am truly grateful!   
> Until next time, Mysty.


End file.
